


Petrichor

by jocastafair



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Depression, F/M, Future Fic, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 18:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jocastafair/pseuds/jocastafair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has a death. And when the time comes, it's hard to say no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petrichor

**Author's Note:**

> Story based on [Machine of Death](http://machineofdeath.net/about).

  **Melancholia**

The world ended on a Tuesday.

There was no sudden, natural calamity from which recovery was impossible, nor did the long-held belief in alien invasion finally come to pass. The earth still spun, unhindered, and the rest of the universe continued its dance of chaos and creation, uncaring of what happened on a piece of rock in an unremarkable galaxy.

But that Tuesday marked the day the Machine was created, its birth the happy accident resulting from a scientist’s simple yet fundamental miscalculation and five months worth of artificial stimulants and painkillers.

The prototype was purchased on the third day of the month. It had been transported from Berlin, and by the weekend, had taken pride of place in the dining room of the hotel. It had been placed on the top tier of the stage, gleaming and regal. Yet the guests averted their eyes, and the waiters doubled their paces, as if ignoring it made it less powerful, and so it sat like a forgotten monarch on a gilded throne, shunned by its subjects.

It seemed the most inopportune location for the Machine, as no one wanted the knowledge it would impart hanging over their heads when they ate. It wasn’t like it would be particularly sought after in any other circumstance either, but it seemed the most damning in a place where the partaking of food and drink were designed, initially at least, to prolong life.

It was never going to last though, as they were all curious - that inevitable fallibility of human nature. They knew that one by one they would go up to the machine, hold out their fingers and let their blood be taken.

But for now, they were happy to live another day in ignorance, content in not knowing how they were going to die.

 

 

 

* * *

 

**  
** **Water**

There was no use in putting it off, Sebastian thought. He was just going to have to suck it up and find out. It was expected that all the drivers would find out, and he supposed that he ought to get it over and done it, instead of having it looming over his head for the entire weekend and distracting him.

The reports that came out all said that it worked, although they were being less than straightforward with how they knew. Official clubs had begun to spring up in places that had access to a Machine for people who shared a fate, so they can - do what? Share ideas on how to avoid it? It made no sense to him.

Sebastian placed his finger in the slot before he lost the nerve and waited for his blood to be taken. A sharp pain and it was over. The Machine whirred and spat out a small white card, the blank side facing up. Sebastian closed his fingers over the card and stuffed it in his pocket. He would look at it when he got back to his hotel room; just because he would know, it didn’t mean he wanted anyone else to, and although he was halfway around the world from where he lived, there were too many people around who recognised him and were looking at him speculatively.

He walked fast, hoping that he wouldn’t bump into anyone he knew. When he reached the lobby, he saw Jenson and his girlfriend enter the front door. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, even a friend, so he took a left and headed towards the elevator, waiting until they left the room.

They walked hand in hand towards the direction that Sebastian had just come from, stoic expressions on both their faces. He waited until he was sure they were gone before making his way out.

The sun was still shining. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been extinguished, but it was a perfect day, and for a moment, it all seemed too unreal. His bones ached, and it wasn’t from lingering jetlag stamped down by adrenaline and caffeine. He hunched his shoulders and walked in the direction of his hotel.

The next few hours were a blur. Sebastian had stayed in his room pretending to sleep - willing himself to sleep, knowing that when evening came that there would be endless questions to answer, but he couldn’t. He physically could not stop himself from thinking about it, his mind whirring along at a million miles.

He finally drifted off just as the sun was setting, exhaustion setting in and lulling him off to a short and restless slumber. He awoke at a quarter past six, his feverish dreams dissipating as soon as he opened his eyes. Still too early to meet the others, but he couldn’t get back to sleep anyway. He pulled on his shirt and mechanically went about his routine, thinking about what he was going to say.

He hadn’t looked at what his death was in the hotel room even though he was alone and would be for some time. He didn’t want to face the possibility of what was printed there so stashed the card under the mattress before heading out, but had ended up doubling back to retrieve it after ten minutes because the absence of it gnawed at him even more than its presence.

Maybe if he ignored it, it wouldn’t happen.

It was a foolish idea, he knew. If these deaths were meant to be inevitable then knowing them wouldn’t change anything, would it? It would still happen, sooner or later; the only difference was that you would be constantly looking over your shoulder and in fear of what would happen for the rest of your life. If ignorance really was such bliss he had no idea why everyone wanted to be burdened by the knowledge.

He couldn’t pay attention to what Christian was saying to him, his mind was still focused on the little white card in his pocket. Physically, the weight of it was negligible, but it felt like it was dragging him down. He wondered if anyone else noticed that he had his hands in his pockets for the entire time.

“...so Mark asked if you could both get the night off because he’s planning to seduce you on a yacht, and I said yes, as long as you wear a dress and he films it all.”

Sebastian snapped out of his thoughts and turned to look at Christian, who had a grin on his face. It was still strange, seeing his boss smile at him. After what had happened in Malaysia, Sebastian wasn’t sure if he would ever see it again. Well, a genuine one, at least. He knew that Christian had lost a lot of respect for him that day. But still he had gone and done it, his head in the heat of the moment, not thinking about what he should be doing, his sights set only on the victory.

“Ah, so you’re back with us. Good. Now, Mark’s just gone to get his prediction, and I know you went to get yours earlier today - don’t look at me like that - the media are going to be focussed on this, so they’ll be going around to all the drivers after practice and on Friday -“

“And what if I don’t want anyone to know? I mean, isn’t this meant to be private?” He couldn’t be the only one feeling that way, but from how Christian was talking about it, he was starting to doubt it.

“Death is never private, Seb,” Christian said, his voice softening, “most of the time it’s messy and violent. If you were to keep quiet, people would assume that you had something to hide, something that could affect your career.”

Ah. So that was it. The sponsors wanted to know which drivers were going to crash and burn and which they were going to invest in. Typical.

Sebastian sighed. “I haven’t looked at it yet,” he mumbled, “the card, I mean.”

“I thought so. You never keep your hands in your pocket. I’m gonna go ahead and guess that it’s in your left.”

Christian’s kind smile made him want to cry. He felt like a little kid again, scared of monsters hiding behind his bed and wanting to hide under the bedcovers until the morning. He opened his mouth to ask Christian how he knew when a car pulled up alongside the hotel.

“Fuckity fuck fuck fuck! What the fuck does this mean?”

“Mark’s here.” Christian said rather unnecessarily as he leant over the railing and waved, yelling “up here mate” to the still-cursing man below.

Sebastian’s mind was spinning. What the hell did Mark get? He had already read his prediction. Well, he supposed it was rather obvious that he would. He probably looked at it straightaway, stared it down like he was daring it to happen, and hadn’t waited like Sebastian, and hadn’t broken down like Sebastian would have if he had done the same thing.

Sebastian braced himself for Mark again, an action that was almost routine now. Whatever semi-easy peace they had established after what had happened in Silverstone was completely destroyed by Malaysia, and before that Silverstone, it had taken months to get over, well, Silverstone the year before, and Turkey, and if he went all the way back, Japan. Their entire relationship was an insane, never-ending cycle made up of brief periods of intense animosity followed by months of awkwardness and maybe a few weeks of almost-friendship before one of them inevitably fucks it up. It should’ve been normal for them, but Sebastian was still somewhat uncomfortable around Mark. Mainly because he knew that Mark was probably fantasising about giving him a black eye most of the time.

Mark thumped up the steps, still muttering under his breath and made his way carefully around the pool, giving it an almost wary glance despite his penchant for back flipping into those things.

“Happenstance.”

Sebastian looked at Christian, who shrugged at him. Neither had any idea what Mark was on about.

Mark sighed and held up a small white card. The word HAPPENSTANCE was printed in the middle. He chuckled at their reactions and Sebastian was sure that he had a confused expression on his face.

“So, what...how?” Christian was obviously stunned as well. They had been told that there would be some weird predictions, but neither of them had expected something as cryptic. Sebastian wasn’t even sure he knew what the word meant.

“Dunno,” Mark said, turning the card over in his hand, “anything could happen to me and it would still make sense. You heard those reports. Not only is death a sadistic bastard he’s also frustratingly vague yet literal at the same time.” Mark sighed and turned to look at Sebastian, his gaze softening, surprisingly. “So, what did you get?”

Sebastian stilled, his fingers closing in tightly around his card. He couldn’t look at it on his own, but here, with Mark and Christian, he felt it would be okay. If anyone could reassure him, it would be his boss, even now, even after all that had happened. Christian was still there for him. And whatever his prediction was, he was sure that Mark would keep talking about the ridiculousness of his own death to distract him. He was too kind sometimes; too self-deprecating, even if the other person didn’t deserve it. Sebastian bit his lip. It would be okay.

He pulled the card out, and he knew that the other two could see how crumpled it was, even though it had only been a few hours since he got it. He took a deep breath and smoothed it out with his fingers. Mark moved closer towards him and clapped him on his shoulder, smiling that kind smile again, whilst Christian moved to flank his other side.

Sebastian turned the card over between them, so that all three could read the message. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting or dreading, but it certainly wasn’t the word that was there.

HEART

\---

“Do you think I could get this done again in Japanese?”

Jenson turned his head towards Jessica. Her head was propped up against a pillow and she was staring at her card with a puzzled expression on her face. The walk back to their hotel was silent, both of them doggedly ignoring the cards that they had stashed in her handbag.

She had headed for the bed as soon as they returned to their room, kicking off her heels along the way and grabbing a bottle of water from the mini fridge before collapsing onto it. Jenson had sat himself on the sofa, not sure how the conversation between them was going to go, not sure where he wanted it to go.

He didn’t know where to start.

He had considered asking her why she felt the need to dress up in a skirt and high heels when all they did was go to the Machine for ten minutes, but he knew how she would answer - it’s Singapore, she needed to look good, even if it was just for stepping out onto the street for a minute.

He wanted to ask her if she was falling apart too. Jenson couldn’t be sure, because she always looked so poised. He thought about asking her how things were going to change - because they were definitely going to change - before realising that he didn’t want to know her answer.

He would just be putting off the inevitable, yet it wasn’t until she spoke up that he realised that he should’ve said something already, or maybe gone and comforted her instead of sitting on the sofa like an idiot with absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

“I mean, this can mean a number of things,” she continued, gesturing with her free hand, “it could mean the season, although I don’t know how that is going to kill me, unless I get buried under a huge pile of leaves...”

It could, but he couldn’t decide whether that was being optimistic or foolish.

“Or it could mean an actual fall.” Jenson finished, turning away from meeting Jessica’s eyes. As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew that it was the wrong thing to say. He should’ve agreed, he should’ve been hopeful and not - not what? Realistic? He hurried on. “I mean, I heard that these things are location-specific.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, ‘there’s that. So, maybe I’ll fall over because my heels are too high.” Her tone was humorous, and Jenson’s gaze fell to the heels that she had kicked off. They were a bright red; a colour that looked gorgeous on her but which Jenson thought was a bit too harsh sometimes. Too confronting. It brought out how pale she was, how fragile.

“That’s why I want to make sure. I’ll do it when I get home.” Jessica continued, unaware of his thoughts. ‘that reminds me, I should call my mum soon.”

She got up from the bed and made her way over to where he was seated, dropping her card on the coffee table before laying her head down on his lap and swinging her legs over the side. “I still don’t know what yours means,” she murmured, brows furrowing in confusion.

Jenson laughed, relieved to be dragged out of his own head as he ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t know either. It’s too vague. I think for my one there’s no other explanation. I mean, if it had meant something else, then I think it would’ve said those things instead.”

Jessica ‘hmm’ed and gave him an encouraging smile. She really was too wonderful. Jenson wished that he was able to display the same level of calm that she exuded. Of course, she could be panicking inside, and Jenson knew her well enough to realise that she was at least slightly panicked underneath it all, but it never showed. He knew that he must look a mess. Unlike her, he was never really good at keeping his thoughts inside. It was something that he never needed, hiding behind a helmet as he did, and whenever he was out of the helmet it wasn’t like they didn’t know what he would be feeling, given what happened during any particular race.

“It could’ve been worse. I’d rather get this than something definite.” He shrugged. “It’s not cancer or a stroke or anything like that. At least that’s something we don’t have to worry about.” She nodded in agreement, the action causing her hair to become tangled around Jenson’s fingers. He extracted them carefully and rested his hand on the top of her head. 

That’s what he needed to do. She had been comforting him that whole time, ever since they had landed in Singapore. He needed to comfort her now, because no matter how strong she was he couldn’t leave her to shoulder the responsibility alone.

It was getting late, or early, for the rest of the residents of the country. Jenson gently prodded her up with his other hand. “Now, c’mon, we need to shower and go to bed. I mean, you’ll always look gorgeous, but I need my beauty sleep before I face the world.”

Jessica laughed, and Jenson believed that maybe, just maybe, they could go back to normal. She got up and stretched before pushing him towards the bathroom door. As he turned, she started talking about a new range of luxury handbags that she was to help promote while they were there and what she was planning to wear to the event, and Jenson was once again left wondering how a simple bag could cost thousands of dollars, and why some people didn’t see anything wrong with it.

As she turned on the taps, testing the water, his thoughts turned briefly to the two small cards on the coffee table.

FALL and WATER.

Yes, they could’ve done a lot worse.

\---

The docks were bathed in a warm, orange glow as the sun gradually disappeared from view. Soon, it would be completely gone, and the rich and powerful denizens of Singapore would come out to play with its beautiful visitors.

Adrian glared at his laptop. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds, convinced that he was seeing the wrong thing.

He wasn’t. Shaking his head, he got up out of his chair and made his way to the kitchenette to start up the kettle. Damn thing usually took ages, which was frustrating most of the time but made for a welcome reprieve given his current mood. He needed time to think.

The last thing he had expected when he opened his laptop that evening was another email from Lewis. A twin of the one that he had been sent after news of his return broke. Until then, it had been more than a year since he had heard from Lewis, and after a few months of silence he had resigned himself to never hearing from him again. So much for the years of friendship that they had shared.

To be fair, he had also resigned himself to the fact that he would never be a Formula 1 driver ever again, and he was proven wrong on that. Although if he was being honest with himself, he would’ve said that being given a second chance was more likely than talking to Lewis again.

Their relationship at the end was in tatters, but it was not unsalvageable. If Lewis had just called him back then and explained why he wasn’t helping, then maybe Adrian would’ve understood. Hell, even if he had called a few months later, Adrian would’ve probably forgiven him. It was always hard to deny Lewis anything. That never happened, of course. No, what had happened was a gradual withdrawal from Lewis’ end and then months and months of silence and unreturned calls and increasingly desperate voicemails before it all stopped. After a while Adrian got the message. Lewis wasn’t going to answer.

The kettle whistled, shaking Adrian out of his thoughts. He pulled one tea bag out of the box and dropped it into his mug, along with three spoonfuls of sugar. Lewis was the one who got him into -

Damn.

Just one email and already Lewis had invaded Adrian’s thoughts again. For a while, making tea always made him think of Lewis.

_I know, I know, I need to watch what I eat and drink. But really, without it the tea’s just too bitter for me. I need the sugar, man. Isn’t it so much better with it?_

Adrian had agreed, back then, and now it had become a habit he couldn’t break. He didn’t even like sweet things, but he didn’t mind Lewis’ tea. He poured the contents of the mug into the sink and got another tea bag out of the box. No sugar this time. He didn’t need more things to remind him of Lewis.

His browser was still opened on the email when Adrian got back to it. He had half hoped that it would have disappeared during his absence, but no such luck. He had probably used up all of his on getting back into F1.

Adrian glanced back at the email in front of him. Just four lines, and yet they said everything. They didn’t say what was actually said, no, but Adrian could read between the lines. Everything unspoken that Lewis had tried to hide; Adrian could see it between the lines. He knew him too well, even after everything.

He closed the screen of his laptop slowly, resting his hands on the top and pushing until he heard that near-silent click, all the while keeping his eyes trained on the message until it disappeared from sight. Maybe he should’ve exited out before he closed it, as next time he opened up the laptop it would still be there. Oh well, he thought, as he got up out of his chair. He was never great at considering how his actions might affect him in the future. He was certainly never good at making things easy for himself later on.

If Lewis still wanted to reconcile, then…well, Adrian didn’t really know what he thought about that. He had missed Lewis, certainty, but it had turned into that bittersweet and nostalgic way that was often reserved for people in his past with whom he was close to but grew apart from over the years. He had resigned himself to never contacting them again, and he was fine with that. Lewis belonged in that group now, along with Adrian’s best friend in first grade who had moved to Brazil, in the days before the internet was widespread and before Adrian realised the implications of what moving away entailed. Lewis should be archived away in Adrian’s mind, along with all of Adrian’s memories of their time together, but it was taking too long. There were too many of them. The spectre of Lewis bled into every grand prix, into every night that he spent playing video games, into all those bars and restaurants and nightclubs that he had gone to regardless of whether he was actually there the first time.

 

_Adrian,_

_Hey, I just found out what your prediction is. I just got mine. BLUE MOON. No freaking idea what that means. Anyway, if you need anything, or just want to talk, you know you can always..._

 

Adrian didn’t believe him for a second. It was so easy for Lewis to say that now. Now, when Adrian didn’t need his support anymore.

His prediction was shocking, to say the least. And painful. But he”d figure it out, he always did. He didn’t need anyone else, least of all someone who abandoned him when he was at his lowest and now expected to just waltz back into his life like nothing had happened, like there wasn’t a huge, gaping chasm between them.

Lewis had shown what he truly was - a fair weather friend - and Adrian didn’t need him.

Adrian didn’t need him at all.

\---

Nico Rosberg knew what it felt like to be a winner. He’s stood on the top step of the podium, higher than all his rivals, revelling in their failure and the adoration of the crowd. It would be different from then on, he”d thought, because he finally chased down that elusive first victory and didn’t have to be ashamed whenever he thought about Michael’s successes compared to his own lack of them.

It was intoxicating. That heady sense of power that spoke right to his pride and made his team members grin and pull him into hugs that were too long and tight for his liking. It was his weapon against his teammate, and as with all newly-discovered weapons, he needed to hone his skills with it. A smart, self-deprecating comment here, a sly poke at the other there; it all needed to be practiced.

It was all part of the game they were playing, and Nico was determined to come out on top.

This - thing - with Michael had started only a few months ago. They had both found themselves in the same bar, which, admittedly wasn’t that big of a deal, but Nico was pretty sure that none of the other interactions between Formula 1 drivers in bars over the years had ever led to the exchange of frantic kisses that bruised and rushed hand jobs in the restrooms. Well, he was pretty sure that it never had. Who knew, maybe that sort of thing happened all the time and he and Michael were just following in that time-honoured tradition of what happens when barely-controlled hostility meets alcohol and bad judgment.

There wasn’t really anyone else he could ask about whether this sort of thing had ever happened before. He almost asked Lewis about it once, before realising that Lewis’ prior relationship with Jenson was probably not indicative of all Formula 1 partnerships. Those two had gotten on scarily well, although Jenson got on well with most people so it didn’t really say much.

Anyway, his relationship with Michael was private, and it wouldn’t do well to have anyone else know about it. Michael might be able to escape with his reputation intact, but he had no doubt that his own would be irrevocably destroyed if they were ever to be found out.

Besides, it wasn’t a real relationship anyway. It was just a game. It wasn’t like they actually had a future together.

Nico tried to concentrate on the track ahead of him. He had almost spun off twice and his engineer was just telling him that his sector times were too erratic. He had to pull it together. He had to catch up to Lewis, who, for some reason seemed to be the only driver who had a good start. The others had all faltered, as if their hearts weren’t in it, as if second-guessing themselves. He knew what they were thinking about. Hell, he hadn’t stopped thinking about it for the entire weekend.

His was hardly something that could be avoided, really. He just had to accept it. It wasn’t like he would go out of his way to avoid the possibility, but nor was he one of those people who would go out deliberately seeking to challenge death in any way, like taking up skydiving or bungee jumping. No, he would just keep going, and nothing was going to change. He wasn’t going to tempt fate like that.

That didn’t stop him thinking about the other predictions though. He felt bad for Adrian for getting blood, because that didn’t rule out crashing and choking on his own blood. Come to think of it, neither did his. He could crash and fly out of the car and die from a fall. No wonder Ross was eyeing his cockpit before the race, he was probably planning to put in some extra harnesses to make sure.

Everyone was talking about how Kimi’s wasn’t so bad. ZEPHYR, it said, and really, it was the most ideal in the circumstances. Nico had no idea what it meant.

And then there was Michael’s. He knew what would happen next. He had seen it coming for a while even then, even before that night in the bar and before Michael had left for a second time; the heated glances when no one else was paying attention, the lingering touches when they passed each other, the shy smiles that Michael sent his way that brightened up his entire day and made him feel like a giddy school girl. It was inevitable, unavoidable, and an incredibly bad idea.

Firstly, the guy was married (happily so), with children (really freaking adorable children). And secondly, well, he didn’t really need a second reason when the first should have him running for the hills and possibly investing in a chastity belt of some sort, because he might just end up dry humping the guy one day and it would be a really good idea if he couldn’t get access to his traitorous body parts. Damn Mercedes, and damn Ross for collecting so many ex-drivers and team owners. He didn’t need Michael hanging around even after he left.

He needed to resist the easy grins and jokes that Michael sent his way, but he wasn’t sure that he would be able to. He had wanted Michael badly, had done so for the past few years, but it would be insanely stupid for both of them to try anything. It could ruin everything and Michael had a family, for goodness’ sake. It could blow up in their faces and Nico would become known as the one who ruined Michael Schumacher’s life and his own career. As for Michael, well, it wouldn’t happen to him. Nico wasn’t jealous or anything, it was just a fact. Michael could probably get away with murder if he wanted to.

He glimpsed a flash of yellow in the left mirror and forced his mind back to the race. He had to stop thinking about the man, or he was going to end up in the wall. Yet he couldn’t get the look that Michael gave him earlier out of his mind; longing, passionate and promising him everything in the world.

\---

Mark hoisted the trophy above his head, grinning at all the camera flashes. He saw Kimi lift his up one-handed whilst waving with his other and Sebastian do the same on his other side. He wondered where Fernando was, if he was with the rest of the media or if he was savouring a few minutes of solitude before he had to face the world. The weekend had been hectic, and he never got the chance to speak with Fernando. He had wanted to do so before the race, but with both of them all but hiding from the public when they weren’t caught up in events for sponsors, it was rather difficult. Everyone wanted to know what the drivers were planning to do next, and already there were bets on as to who would quit first. It was disgusting. Their lives, like their careers had become one big game for some people. Maybe he was being pessimistic, but he had no doubt that there was a lot of speculation as to what deaths they would get.

He should talk to Fernando when the press conference was over, although he suspected that he would be caught up in the celebrations for the rest of the night, especially as they had gotten a 1-2. That was one thing that never changed; the world could end at any minute but the Red Bull team was always up for a party. At least this time it was completely welcome. It would be good. It would take his mind off things, and it might just put a genuine smile on Sebastian’s face.

Things had been...well, they weren’t good (they would never be good) but they were okay. Not the same level of okay that they were at last time they were in Singapore, but...okay. Thankfully he only had to last the rest of the year. It was the right decision, his retirement, even though to some it seemed like he was giving up and running away. Perhaps he was, but he wanted his exit to be on his terms. He didn’t want to linger and languish and end up bitter and accusing and blaming everyone but himself. He owed it to himself to cut his losses and move on. Besides, it wasn’t like his time was completely horrible. Given the recent happenings, it was time to let go of what had happened in the past and move on. He didn’t want to live the rest of his life filled with resentment and residual rage that would spill at any moment. He owed it to himself, and to Sebastian, to move on.

So the anger had subsided, as quick as it came, and instead of the constant, simmering fury that had followed him for weeks after all those times, there had only been an overpowering feeling of resignation. It had happened too many times. Mark didn’t even know why he still thought things could be different.

So they were okay, Mark got over it faster than he expected, and Sebastian kept not apologising for it. They minded their own business; Mark hung out with Jenson and Fernando sometimes, Sebastian did whatever he did with the people he did them with, and they never talked unless they were working. Mark was content with that arrangement. Just until the end of the year, he kept telling himself.

Yet, this was different. Mark knew Sebastian was suffering. It came from half a decade of being teammates; he could always judge Sebastian’s moods fairly well, even when they were just okay with each other. Young drivers all started out thinking that they were invincible. It came with being largely free of the aches and pains that plagued drivers when they aged and their bodies began to protest against their minds. Mark was the oldest of the bunch now. New drivers were coming in all the time, some of whom were born in the nineties. It was even worse now as he didn’t have someone like Michael or Rubens there, someone who was older than him but still in the game. Someone who remembered the old days, of watching the drivers of the old days, when any one race held the possibility of death. These new drivers were young, and reckless, and fearless, because they didn’t know what true fear was. It came not only from driving in a time when safety had become paramount, but also from not experiencing the era when death was constant and omnipresent on the track rather than hovering far out of sight.

Mark was glad that most of the predictions weren’t too bad, considering the circumstances, even though the ones about suicide were quite worrying. Still, he hated thinking about them actually happening, even if it would be decades in the future. He should talk to Sebastian instead and see if he was okay. Fernando would be fine. THREE, TWO, ONE, his was. He would be fine, but Sebastian - Mark didn’t know what Sebastian was thinking. Sebastian was inscrutable at the best of times now but it seemed like he had completely shut down. Mark could tell that the smile on his face was fake because he knew what Sebastian looked like when he was truly happy, when that grin of his was so wide that his cheeks struggled to contain it and he complained that they hurt because he physically could not stop smiling.

He shook the thoughts out of his head and raised the bottle of champagne, spraying it into the crowd before turning on Kimi and Sebastian. It would do him a world of good to ignore everything for a few minutes and just focus on the victory, but even as he dropped the half-empty bottle down to the team, he couldn’t shake the thoughts about Sebastian from his head. He wasn’t supposed to be miserable. He wasn’t supposed to walk around with a fake smile on his face that never reached his eyes.

 

 

 

* * *

 

**  
** **Happenstance**

“Seb?” Mark’s voice floated over the top of the water lapping at his ears. “Seb, are you trying to drown yourself? “Cause you know, that’s sort of Jenson’s area from now on.”

Sebastian wasn’t trying to drown himself, of course he wasn’t, despite the fact that he was in the pool with his clothes on and half his head under and with the line of the water dancing about his lips. It was tempting, though; something to try just to see if he could, something that would take his mind off the damned prediction.

They had a good race. No, actually, they had a fantastic race, and Sebastian had previously entertained the thought of getting Christian to jump in the hotel pool - fully naked this time - if he and Mark could get another 1-2 that weekend. They did, and Christian nearly did, before realising that doing so in front of so many cameras was probably not the best idea.

A splash sounded next to him and he turned to see Mark make his way over. Immediately, alarm bells starting ringing in his mind and he spluttered as he struggled to get a footing on the side of the pool.

Mark had become different with him over the past months. No, that was wrong, Mark hadn’t changed at all, he just focused his easy smiles and encouraging words on Sebastian instead of someone else more deserving. He had been the recipient of those smiles before but he thought that after Malaysia Mark would want nothing to do with him anymore.

Turned out he was wrong, as he watched Mark get closer. It was overwhelming, at times, the realisation that he and Mark were actually somewhat friends with each other, and that nothing else, even another Malaysia, would change that. After what had happened, everything else just seemed silly. It was like neither of them wanted to hold any grudges anymore. He didn’t know about Mark, but for him, even though the events of their past were no longer in the forefront of his mind, they were still waiting in the crevices waiting to pounce whenever he found himself basking in Mark’s presence or wanting more of those smiles to be aimed at him. He knew what it meant, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. He couldn’t acknowledge it, and he certainly couldn’t act on it, not unless he wanted to burden Mark with them.

“Hey! Is it safe for you in here? I mean, we still don’t really know what yours means.”

Mark shrugged and slowly waded in front of him. “I figure, if it’s my time to go, it’ll happen, but before then there’s nothing I can really do about it.”

He was always so matter-of-fact even when his life was potentially on the line. It made Sebastian feel like a kid for worrying so much over nothing sometimes. But this time, it wasn’t over nothing, and Mark was still acting like it was normal.

“Why do you do that?” Sebastian asked.

Mark continued to wade back and forth in front of him. “Do what?”

“Act like nothing has changed?”

Silence.

Damn, maybe he shouldn’t have asked. Maybe Mark was just as on edge as he was. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to talk about it; about how much things had changed between them. Maybe Mark didn’t want to acknowledge it.

He was beginning to panic and started thinking about how to retract the question when Mark spoke up.

“Well, nothing has. The way I see it, it’s not worth spending the rest of my life living in fear. It’ll happen one day, but until then, I’ll just enjoy my life one day at a time.”

He sounded like all those inspirational speakers that popped up in the last year, but somehow it was less trite coming from Mark and his usual blunt delivery. Sebastian laughed. “You’re mad.”

“Yeah, well, I could say the same thing about you. We all need to be a bit mad to survive in this game.” Mark came to a stop in front of him and reached out under the water to take hold of Sebastian’s hand. “Don’t let it change you, Seb. You’re too good to let it change you.”

Sebastian suddenly became all too aware of how warm Mark’s hand was, even in the water. He radiated heat and it travelled up Sebastian’s arm, electrifying and intense. Sebastian shivered. At that moment, he wanted to tell Mark to never let go.

But he couldn’t get the words out.

Instead, he pulled Mark closer by his hand until the older man was right in front of him. He was - what was he doing? He should give Mark time to run away, or swim away in this case. He relinquished Mark’s hand and waited. Mark was going to pull away now. It was a bad idea; a monumentally stupid one. He shouldn’t burden Mark any further. He shouldn’t be doing that. He shouldn’t be, after - after everything that had happened between them, it was too much, he shouldn’t presume -

Nothing happened. Mark stood in front of him, bobbing slightly with the water and smiling. He wasn’t moving away. In fact, he was moving even closer, and Sebastian hoped that he wouldn’t lose his footing on the sloping pool floor and end up falling into Mark.

What happened next was something that Sebastian had thought about but always dismissed as a mere fantasy. There was no way that Mark would be interested in him. He might be interested in men, but it would never be him. It was just a crush, because Mark had been so nice to him the past few months - and wasn’t that just great? Sebastian wasn’t sure that he wanted to look into what that said that about him - Mark was just being the nice guy that he was.

Sure, Mark was friendlier to him now, but it still felt rather distant when he compared it to how he acted around Jenson or Fernando, and there was still quite a bit of tension between them whenever certain races came up in conversation. Plus, Mark would never want an immature kid like him.

It was, therefore, completely unexpected when Mark pulled him close by his collar and kissed him.

\---

Nico held his breath as Michael moved towards him and tried to look relaxed as he neared although he was sure that he was failing badly. Michael clapped a hand to his shoulder, and Nico could feel himself tensing up.

“Hey, great drive today.”

Nico gulped, one half of him wanting Michael to remove his hand and the other half wanting him to move his hand to another place on Nico’s body, preferably lower, and without the barrier of clothes getting in the way.

“Yeah...” he managed to stammer out. “Thanks.”

Michael grinned at him and moved his hand down Nico’s arm until it came to a rest at his elbow.

Nico glanced around the garage. It was already emptying; the mechanics hurriedly preparing the equipment for transport back to their base. Ross was nowhere to be seen, and Nico knew that Lewis had disappeared ages ago, probably stalking Adrian again. No one seemed to think it was weird that Michael and Nico were standing so close together, or they weren’t really paying attention. It was hard for the team to go on pretending that it was just another race, Nico knew, but it turned out all right in the end. They did well that weekend, and now they had a couple of days to unwind before the madness started again in Montreal.

Nico turned back to look at Michael, who was still staring at him. He looked nervous, Nico realised, as if he wasn’t sure what would happen. It was the first time that Nico had ever seen the other man look nervous. Normally Michael was always calm and composed, and when he was driving, passionate and precise, but never nervous. The hand on his arm was tense and Michael looked like he was close to drawing it away.

‘michael...” he started, not sure of where he was going with it, just knowing that he had to say something to get Michael to stay. He couldn’t even hope to be coherent when Michael’s hand was still on his arm, a warm weight keeping him tethered to the ground in case he went flying.

“Um, have you eaten yet? Maybe we should go somewhere and...eat something, I guess.” He saw Michael’s expression change to one of doubt. Maybe he had this all wrong; maybe Michael was just being friendly. Maybe Nico was shooting himself in the foot. “Unless you’re not hungry. You’re probably not hungry. Um, I’m just gonna go and...”

“Nico,” Michael said. He didn’t continue though, as if he just wanted to say Nico’s name. He looked like he was still debating with himself, as he kept opening his mouth and closing it before he could say anything. Nico waited. If Michael withdrew his offer it would never happen again. They would return to their previous relationship, strictly professional and whatever emotion lingering between them ignored and battered until it was forgotten. He couldn’t let that happen, even if it was a monumentally stupid idea for them to get involved.

“Let’s go back to the hotel, and then get some dinner. I don’t particularly want to speak to any reporters right now, and I don’t think you want to either.” He smiled, and Nico felt his heart speed up. “Or we could just get room service if you’re not up to eating out.”

He moved his hand towards Nico’s back and turned to guide them out of the garage, waving goodbyes at the team members that were present whilst Nico leaned back on Michael’s hand for support, as if he would topple at any moment if Michael let go.

The ride back to the hotel was short and uneventful, with Michael chatting with their driver as Nico sat back and let Michael’s English waft over him, peering out of the window at the scenery in an effort to distract himself from the rest of the night. They were talking about vintage wines and what the weather was like in France at the moment. Trivial things, really, but their driver knew better than to ask anything even tangentially related to the race weekend. Nico was glad that he didn’t have to sit through more of people’s sympathy. He knew they meant it, that it was sincere, but he also knew that they were also hyenas sniffing for blood, content to feast on his private life in the most revealing way possible.

“Nico?” Michael’s voice pierced through his thoughts, and Nico turned to look at him. He looked worried, unsure, as if he was going to make the biggest mistake of his life.

“Yeah, I’m coming. I was just thinking about something.” He smiled and followed Michael out of the car.

Their driver waved them goodbye and they set off through the glass doors. There was nobody in the lobby; one didn’t stay at Monaco to retire early to the hotel, not when there were parties to go to and beautiful people cavort with.

Nico followed Michael up the elevator into the suite. He hoped that there wouldn’t be pictures of Michael’s wife or kids lying around, not that Michael was the type of guy to carry framed photographs of his family around to set up in hotel rooms, be he knew that he wouldn’t be able to go through this if that was to be the case.

“Do you want a drink?” Michael asked as he made his way towards the minibar.

“Uh, no, that’s okay.” Nico replied.

Michael shrugged and poured himself a glass of water, grinning at Nico as he raised it to his lips.

“Dinner?”

“Maybe later.” He wouldn’t be able to keep anything down; partially from nerves, and partially because he felt so disgusted with himself.

“Okay then. So what do you suppose we do to fill the time then?” Michael placed his glass on the counter and made his way over to Nico, the self-assured smile back on his face as if he knew what Nico wanted to say but would never get the words out, and Nico was tempted for a moment to tell him “fuck you” before leaving and slamming the door behind him.

But it was only a moment, and as Michael snaked a hand around his waist Nico felt himself giving in. He was a tiny bit taller than Michael, but he didn’t feel it. It always surprised him whenever he saw old photos of them standing together. Michael just seemed so larger-than-life; it wouldn’t have been surprising if he were ten feet tall.

He was still contemplating it when Michael pulled him closer and kissed him. It was hard, demanding, the kind of kiss that was to let the recipient know just who exactly was going to be in charge. He relented and parted his lips as Michael drew back until they were barely touching. Nico closed his eyes and tried to kiss Michael again but the infuriating man laughed as he kept the distance between them.

“All in good time, Nico,” he whispered.

Nico had to stop himself from groaning in frustration. Dammit, he didn’t need to be seduced or anything, they had done that dance for months already. Still, it was hard to deny Michael anything, and he let out a small huff of impatience as Michael stepped away from him.

“Let’s go into the bedroom.”

Nico nodded and followed as Michael pushed open the double doors. He could see the huge king-sized bed inside the room, and he imagined himself and Michael tangled up in the sheets and each other. The same questions ran through his mind. Would he stay for the night, or would Michael tell him to leave when it was over? Would this only be a repeating one-time thing? Did he want this to be a repeating one-time thing?

He tried to block the new questions in his mind as he stepped towards the bed where Michael was waiting. Damn this. If Michael Schumacher wanted to make another mistake, then Nico wasn’t going to stop him. He was a grown man; if he wanted to screw up his own life, then that was his choice.

\---

Adrian kept his face blank as he stared at Lewis. He didn’t know if he was succeeding, but judging by the look on Lewis’ face it was at least somewhat working. Lewis looked nervous, his eyes constantly dipping down to look at his menu and his hands fiddling with the hem of the tablecloth.

Good. Adrian wasn’t planning on making it easy for him. He probably thought that if he kept it up then Adrian was going to give in, but he wasn’t going to let his guard down this time. If he and Lewis became friends again Adrian didn’t think that he could ever trust Lewis again, even if it was years down the track.

In a way it made him sad, knowing that something that was once incredibly special and precious to him had disappeared and would never come back, but the months of uncertainty and pain that he went through was something that he never wanted to experience again. Trusting Lewis - trusting anyone - was like hanging a knife above his head and giving the other the means to cut the rope. Sooner or later that rope would be cut. It was just easier to not give it to anyone in the first place.

Adrian took a drink of his water and waited. He had received several more messages and even some voicemails from Lewis in the past few months, none of which he actually read or listened to, but he didn’t think that Lewis would actually seek him out in person. They had gotten through the past couple of years without needing to speak to each other or look each other in the eye and Adrian was content to let that continue until one of them left. He wasn’t expecting Lewis to come up to him after the last race and ask if he wanted to go out to dinner. In shock, Adrian had accepted.

Lewis took in a deep breath before he lifted his eyes again, finally speaking this time.

“How’ve you been?”

He looked so earnest, his concern so genuine, that to Adrian it almost felt like they had just not talked to each other for a while and needed to catch up. It was too reminiscent of the times before when they went a couple of weeks without talking because they were busy with training and promotions, too busy to even talk on the phone, and needed to tell each other what they had been doing even though the other usually knew about it already from constant text updates.

“Nothing much,” he replied, thankful that his voice didn’t catch on the lump in his throat. “Training, giving interviews, getting ready for Austria.”

Lewis looked like he was hanging on every word, and Adrian hated him for it.

“What about you?”

“Uh…I’ve been…doing things with Nico. But, yeah, same stuff. Getting ready for the next race…yeah.” He seemed to at once run out of things to say and have too much to get out in one go.

Adrian picked up his menu again, pretending to skim through the pages even though he had already picked out what he wanted. He didn’t want to watch Lewis as he struggled for words, even though he knew that it shouldn’t affect him as much as it did.

The waiter came and took their orders and then it was back to staring at each other - or, in Lewis’ case, staring at Adrian for three seconds and then staring down at his plate for the rest of the time before he talked himself into looking up again.

It was tiring.

“Did you…um, I mean…did you get my messages?” Lewis asked, smiling slightly as he peered up at Adrian. He looked hopeful. Uncertain, but hopeful.

“I haven’t had the chance to go through them.”

Lewis’ face fell then, and Adrian suddenly wanted to know what he had written in those emails now, if only to understand why Lewis’ expression had changed so suddenly.

“Never mind,” Lewis said, smiling again, although Adrian could see that the strain was back. “It wasn’t important anyway.”

He went back to looking at his plate.

They stayed like that for the rest of their dinner, neither of them saying much of consequence and at the end of the night they took the elevator back up to their hotel rooms. Lewis smiled as he got off on the seventh floor and said a quick ‘see ya” before the doors closed. As soon as they did Adrian slumped against the far wall and closed his eyes. It had been a long night.

He made it to his room and fell back onto his bed as he replayed everything in his mind. The messages were still bugging him, as was the expression on Lewis’ face when Adrian had said that he hadn’t read them.

Sighing, he sat up and made his way to his laptop sitting on the bedside table, resigning himself to reading through every single one of Lewis’ messages. It was just going to eat at him until he did it, and the next day was qualifying and he really didn’t need it nagging at the back of his mind for that.

He opened the first one.

 

_Adrian,_

_How’s it going? Congrats on Malaysia - you were really amazing._

 

_Adrian,_

_Do you think there’s something going on with Nico and Michael? They’ve been acting really weird recently._

 

_Adrian,_

_Did you see -_

 

And, okay, if that was what they were all going to be like Adrian didn’t know why he was bothering. He skimmed through them quickly, not sure what he was looking for. It was only until he got to the last few that he found it.

 

_Adrian,_

_I’m sorry I never got to tell you how much you meant to me. You were more than just my best friend, and I just want to say, even if you won’t believe me now, that I love you, and I’ve done so for a long time._

 

Adrian could feel his breath catching in his throat. It couldn’t…could it?

 

_Adrian,_

_I’m sorry. Again. It seems that all I do now is say sorry. I’m not sorry for loving you, but I am for telling you that I do._

_Adrian,_

_It’s not that I’m ashamed of how I feel, but I know that you would feel obliged to be nice to me even if you hate me. You’re just that kind of person. I wish I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry for making everything complicated._

 

That was the last one, dated to a month ago. There hadn’t been any more since then, even though previously there had been about one a week. It would explain a lot of things.

Adrian sighed and closed his laptop as he ran a hand over his eyes.

He had no idea what to do.

\---

There was something about his ex-teammate that was different, Mark realised, as he picked up Sebastian’s balaclava from the bench. Someone had decided at the last minute to write something on it, although the silver marker next to it did not match the MONZA written in black on the side.

They were all different now, considering the circumstances, but there was something else going on with Sebastian. There would be times when he stared off into the distance and seemed trapped in his own mind. Other times he would disappear and not re-emerge for hours. And then there would be the times when he was jubilant and playful and it was almost like having the old Sebastian back. The one who smiled easily and seemed genuinely surprised at every victory, the one who took nothing for granted and treasured everything. He missed that Sebastian, didn’t even realise how much until he was gone.

Mark was worried. Sebastian’s dad was worried. Hell, even his dad was. He was withdrawing from them, day by day. It had been nearly a year already, but Mark knew that it was something that Sebastian could not get out of his mind. Mark had accepted it already and often went for weeks without thinking about it, but he knew that it was the first thing on Sebastian’s mind when he woke every morning and the last thing before the dreams took over. He knew because whenever he saw Sebastian first open his eyes, they would be empty. Glassy, with a faraway look as he tried to focus on the man in front of him, until he finally realised that it was Mark, and then he would smile. Mark loved that smile; it wasn’t as exuberant as the one shown to the rest of the world, it was better than that. It was just for him and he loved it, loved that he could make Sebastian smile like that.

He picked up the balaclava and made his way over to where Sebastian was, surrounded by reporters hoping to get something from the reigning champion as he stuck close to Heikki and ignored them. His eyes fell on Mark and followed him until they were facing each other. Heikki stood in front of them and tilted the umbrella forward, shielding them somewhat from the prying eyes. By then, most of the reporters had realised that Sebastian was not going to talk to them and had already moved on to another driver, but there were still a few sticking around hoping that he would change his mind.

Mark grabbed Sebastian’s hand and placed the piece of fabric into it, curling Sebastian’s fingers around it until only the ‘m” was visible. He looked so lost, so impossibly young, even without the soft curls and with two days of growth on his face. Mark let go of Sebastian’s hand and hugged him tight, careful to not let it linger too long. He didn’t need to say anything; he could feel from the way Sebastian’s body relaxed that he was going to be okay, at least until Mark saw him again. He let go of Sebastian and whispered “good luck” before turning towards his car.

The next eighty minutes were exhilarating, but it was over all too quickly. Mark had hoped that time would slow as they drove around because Monza was a glorious circuit and needed to be savoured and he could almost imagine that he was back in the car racing against them. He missed racing there, even though he did not share the same happy memories of it that Sebastian did. It was still something for him to conquer.

It was over far too quickly.

He watched with his old team as Sebastian crossed the finish line first, heard him cheering through his headset and thanking everyone for their hard work. His old engineers laughed and hugged and slapped each other on the back, and Mark joined in, his voice carrying over everyone else’s as he clapped vigorously. It was strange, but he had never felt more a part of the team as he did then, months after he had left.

He joined the rest of the team just as Sebastian was taking off his helmet and balaclava. It was inverted, and he could see something in silver on the other side of the black marker. He turned to ask Heikki if he knew what it was and caught Christian frantically gesturing at him. It took him a few seconds to realise that Christian’s strange and rather complicated hand gestures were telling him to get inside the barrier. Mark was confused for a moment before realising that Christian had meant for him to accept the trophy on behalf of the team. He nodded and climbed over the fence.

Sebastian came over to them, smiled at him and hugged him before moving on to accept hugs from the rest of the team. He was grinning a genuine smile on his face, and Mark was relieved. Monza held happy memories for Sebastian, and undoubtedly they helped. They made their way inside together, laughing and joking about what had happened in the race. Romain and Lewis were already there, and he hugged both of them as Sebastian went to get weighed.

The other three donned their caps and watches and listened to the restless crowd outside as they moved towards the door. He was about to follow them when Sebastian’s upturned helmet on the table caught his eye. He leaned in to look at the writing just as the others stepped out onto the podium and the cheers erupted.

The sound rang in Mark’s ears.

He had done it. He had conquered Monza after all.

Stepping out onto the deck, he caught Sebastian’s eye as he moved past him to take his place. A sea of red greeted them, no doubt disappointed by the performance of the Ferraris but none of it mattered. All he could think about was that, touching the same place on Sebastian’s head that usually rested on Mark’s shoulder as he slept, was the word MARK, written in silver.

 

 

 

* * *

 

**  
** **Suicide**

Suicide Claims Formula 1 Driver

_By Janice Gray_

_Monday, 8 September 2014, 10:25_

 

Death has claimed many racing drivers over the years. Most have been taken at the peak of their lives, doing what they loved; dragged, as we like to think, kicking and screaming from the world that loved them and the sport that consumed them. It is a rare thing for a driver to take their own life, yet that is exactly what has happened.

Earlier this morning, as the sun rose on the end of a thrilling 2014 Italian Grand Prix, Felipe Massa’s body was discovered...

 

 

 

* * *

 

**  
** **Heart**

Nico hadn’t planned on having a heart to heart with Lewis. They were friends, sure, and they were close, but there was still some small wedge of professional distance between them. In Nico’s defence though Lewis spoke to him first, and when the hell did he become such a good liar? It was all easy smiles and friendly banter in public, but in private things hadn’t been going that great, apparently. Nico had originally thought that it was due to his moving to Mercedes and the media backlash that had ensued with that decision, but it wasn’t.

“It was all an act, really, we were never that close.” And good lord did that ever fuck with Nico’s worldview. Sometimes he really thought that Lewis should not be allowed to speak, lest he blurts out other uncomfortable truths. “Plus, things were different with the team. I don’t think they trusted me as much near the end. He became the one who could do no wrong and I finally became too much of a liability for them. I think they thought that I wasn’t worth it anymore, in the end.”

He paused, and when he continued, Nico didn’t like to hear the despondent edge to Lewis’ voice. “And they weren’t the only ones who thought that.”

Ah, Adrian. And therein was the problem. Nico murmured what he hoped were reassuring words to the other boy, hoping to cheer him up. It was distressing to hear him so down.

“Nico, can I ask you something else?”

“Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

“Say, if you and...I don’t know, Michael, if you guys weren’t Formula 1 drivers, and were strangers, and not famous, and you met him one day in a completely normal way, do you think that you would be friends? Hypothetically.”

Well fuck, Lewis had managed to surprise him twice in one phone call.

He tried to get his heartbeat under control as he thought about Lewis’ question. If they weren’t Formula 1 drivers…well, it was hard imagining Michael as anything else. He wasn’t just a driver with negligible talent who managed to stay in the sport because of the money attached to his name, racing for a few years before the teams decided that the funds weren’t worth it; Michael was a legend, perhaps  _the_  legend, at least for the current generation. Nico couldn’t picture the guy doing anything else. He didn’t even know what Michael did in the three years he was away.

Nico tried to imagine Michael as a normal guy, maybe working for a company, dressed in a boring suit with a boring haircut, going home to his family after a long day at work, stressed about his mortgage and his kids’ school fees and other things that normal people worried about. He tried picturing this new Michael in his mind, but as soon as he had the image gave way to a confident man in a sharply-tailored designer suit. There was no way that Michael would be just another ordinary person. No, he would always be the best at what he did. He would always do whatever was necessary to be the best, even if it meant bending the rules, but that didn’t matter because Michael Schumacher’s moral compass was already a little bit wonky. He would be the CEO of whatever company he was at, nothing less.

And if Nico ever met that man…he won’t come out of it intact. He’ll burn in Michael’s fire, just like how it would be if they had started this thing when Michael was in his prime. 

“Nico? You there mate?”

He started at Lewis’ voice, mind coming back from whatever place it had wandered off to.

“Um, yeah, just thinking about your question. I think, well, I don’t think we’ll be friends. Actually, I have no idea what it would be like. Maybe? I don’t know. Depends, I guess.”

Lewis laughed. “Yeah, I thought so.” He paused before continuing, less humour in his voice. “I don’t know what it would be like with me and Adrian. Sometimes I think that if we were in any other circumstance, maybe we would’ve ended up together. But we were friends before, which was amazing, before...”

Nico knew what Lewis was going to say.  _...before I went and fucked it up because I was stupid and thought that my career was more important to me than our friendship._

“Are you certain about that?”

“Pretty certain,” Lewis replied glumly, “I’ve missed my chance with him. I don’t want us to be best friends again or anything, but I would like to know if he still likes me or just tolerates me and is just being nice whenever we speak. I mean, he’s speaking to me now and not ignoring me like he was before, so that’s got to count for something, right? He’s never going to really forgive me for what I did, or didn’t do; I don’t think my being in love with him will change that. He said he didn’t read any of my messages, so he still doesn’t know, which is...I dunno, good I guess, because I shouldn’t have told him, but I really thought that he did and that was why he agreed to dinner that one time.”

Nico heard Lewis sigh heavily into his phone. “Anyway, enough about my love life. What’s been happening with you lately?”

Nico didn’t know how to respond. Except, would it really be so bad to tell Lewis about him and Michael? Lewis was opening up to him, and there really was no one else he could speak to. He needed to talk to someone about it, it was driving him insane. He had thought about asking Sebastian, because he was close to Michael, but then he really didn’t want Sebastian to go to Michael and tell him that Nico was being weird and asking inappropriate personal questions. And he would, because Michael wasn’t so much a father-figure as he was a creepy-uncle-figure to Sebastian, so of course they talked about this kind of stuff together. Maybe Michael told Sebastian about Nico? Who knew.

So he didn’t talk to Sebastian about anything. He had thought about talking to his dad about it, but leaving out who exactly it was, but he wasn’t sure that he could get away with it. His dad could be scarily-perceptive at times, usually when it involved Nico’s love life, or lack thereof. He was like - a less talkative but still as confusing Yoda. At least he never made Nico feel like he was being judged; there was always that to be thankful for. He’d witnessed what it was like to have overbearing parents when he was karting. It wasn’t even just Lewis; many of the other young drivers had their own Anthony Hamilton. Nico’s dad, well, he just made sure Nico wasn’t in immediate danger from any wild animals and left him to navigate the forest by himself, and Nico appreciated that. He needed to find his own way in the world, and even though his dad was his hero, he liked doing things by himself.

That didn’t mean that his dad didn’t care though. He was strangely perceptive for being such a hands-off parent, and most of the time Nico ended up talking through his problems with him. Most of the time. Like, not when he was having an affair with his older (so much older), famous, married, male teammate (who had kids). Not for the first time, Nico cursed his luck.

He took a deep breath. “I’ve been seeing someone.” Pause. How was he going to phrase it? Oh hell, Nico thought, might as well say it like it is and get it over with. “It’s Michael Schumacher.”

Silence.

“Lewis?”

More silence.

Maybe Lewis was weirded out by him being another man. Even though he knew Lewis wasn’t homophobic, it had to be a bit of a shock when someone you’ve known for half your life comes suddenly comes out to you like that. He probably should’ve gone slower, or at least worded that a bit differently.

“What the hell, Nico!? When did that happen? I demand details!”

Lewis was taking the news better than Nico had hoped. He actually demanded all the details, and then he spent a few minutes going “Whaaaat?” at various intonations.

“So what happens now? Do you guys meet up in bars and hook up?”

“Well, seeing as he’s rather famous, it would be kind of stupid for us to keep bumping into each other in public places.”

Nico hoped his eye roll made its way through the phone, because it was rather epic. And Lewis didn’t find himself on the receiving end of those enough for everyone’s liking.

“We just hook up during race weekends. We always go to his hotel room, because he’s a control freak, but not at all the races.”

“Because he has a family.”

“-and sometimes we talk about random, useless things and sometimes we don’t and then we have sex and then I leave.”

“Because of his family.”

“Shut up.”

“The truth hurts, my friend.”

Nico sighed. It wasn’t like he deliberately ignored the fact that Michael had a family, it was just that it made everything so much more confusing.

Plus, he had something to ask Lewis. That was the whole point of all this shame and soul-bearing.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Is this normal? Does this sort of thing happen all the time and I’m just not aware of it? Does Mark make Sebastian dress up as a schoolgirl and spank him whenever he wins?”

“I- what?!”

Perhaps that last bit was too much. Still, it was a legitimate question.

“Nico, I don’t think this happens. I mean, I can’t say about it ever happening, but from what I know it hasn’t happened. And even if it has happened before, I doubt that the people involved would want to talk about it.”

Lewis did make a good point. Damn him for being logical for once.

“All I can tell you is that it hasn’t happened to me before with any of my teammates. I mean, me and Fernando? Really? We’re friends now, I think,” Lewis paused, almost as if he wasn’t sure if he should’ve said what he did, “I mean, yes, we’re friends now, but I still can’t imagine us like that. Can you? We’d probably kill each other within a week.”

Nico could, and as soon as he did he really wished that he couldn’t.

“And I can tell you with some degree of certainty that Mark and Sebastian are not going at it behind everyone’s backs, because…well…just no. No. Of course I could be completely wrong and they are together, in which case I really would not understand how that happened. Unless Mark is particularly masochistic and apathetic towards what’s gone down between them.”

“Hmm. Maybe I should ask Sebastian.”

“Ha! Yeah, do that. And record it so I can listen because I don’t think he would want me there. Anyway, I’ve gotta go.”

“Yeah. Let me know if Adrian actually hates you and is plotting your death. I’ll let you live with me.”

“We live in the same place Nico.”

“Whatever, the offer still stands. I’ll let you hide behind my dad’s moustache.”

\---

There were cracks in the wall just under the cornice. Tiny, spider web-thin lines emanated from the joints. It was barely noticeable, but Sebastian could tell that they were there. The building was decaying around him. The whole world was decaying around him. Soon, there would be nothing but rubble. He could taste it already.

He had been dreaming until the sounds of life outside had woken him and he had opened his eyes to see the cracks in the wall. He could hear Mark moving around in the bathroom. He could hear raised voices from next door; a husband and wife arguing, probably. He had heard them the night before and it seemed like they were still going.

Dreams were nothing new to him - he remembered having really vivid dreams when he was younger - but he knew that he hadn’t had a real dream since that day two years ago. All he saw when he closed his eyes were his fears about the future.

Yet he had just been dreaming. The details of it slipped away from him as he struggled to hold onto the images and sounds. There was a bunch of people that he did not recognise, but amongst the crowd he could make out some familiar faces. He knew Mark had been in it, and so had Felipe, as alive as he used to be. Jenson was also there, and so were Nico and Lewis and Michael and a bunch of other people. He couldn’t recall what they were doing, but he knew that they were all laughing at something. He closed his eyes to chase the images but there was nothing else, just a vague sense of joy.

He couldn’t feel his parents there and he had felt glad for that, but he didn’t know why. He couldn’t remember where they were, but it had smelt like damp earth and ozone. He could still taste the metallic tang in his mouth as he swallowed. It was calming, but he also felt restless, as if he was meant to do something or be somewhere. His inability to remember was comforting, actually. Too often he had awoken with an unsettling feeling deep in his gut and a perfect recollection of what had caused it. Usually, it was something about his future, and he could always remember it in perfect clarity, which made what he had that morning a blessing. He had to savour it for as long as possible.

The water shut off in the bathroom and Mark emerged in a low-slung towel that appeared to be struggling to free itself from his hips. He grabbed at it before it could make its bid for freedom and drop to the ground, cursing softly as he dripped water onto the carpet. Sebastian watched him from his spot on the bed, following the familiar contours of the man’s back. He mapped the lean muscles and broad shoulders with his eyes, smiling to himself as he watched Mark step into his favourite pair of jeans and a soft t-shirt that immediately caught the drops of water from his hair.

Even though Mark had been retired for a while he still turned up to most of the races, ostensibly as a “consultant” of sorts for Red Bull, but most knew that he was just there for Sebastian. Daniel had taken his seat now, and Sebastian liked him well enough. He was easygoing and had a nice smile, and Sebastian had joked that he had become used to having a teammate with an Australian accent and having Daniel there meant that he didn’t have to adjust to a completely different accent. It would throw him off his game, he had said. They had become a good team and had taken a first and third that weekend and promptly soaked each other in the pool before ganging up on everyone else.

“Hey,” Mark smiled as he made his way back to the bed and laid himself out over the rumpled covers on his side. “Morning, Seb.” A soft kiss on his forehead. “I was going to get us some breakfast.”

Sebastian hummed and smiled up at Mark. It was nearly nine already, and breakfast did sound good. Food always tasted the best after a race and especially after a win. “Do you want me to come?” He started pushing himself up on his elbows before Mark kissed him again, this time on the tip of his nose, stopping him in his tracks. He giggled slightly and tried to rub it against Mark’s stubble.

“You’ve just won at Monaco, you deserve breakfast in bed. I’ve ordered some, but I’m just popping down to get some of those bagels you really like.” Mark rolled off their bed and straightened, hesitant, as if he didn’t want to leave. “I’ll be right back,” he said as he slowly back up to the door, “I should be back before room service gets here, so don’t get out of bed.” He grinned and reached behind him to open the door.

Sebastian watched Mark shuffle out backwards and settled back down into the pillows. Mark absolutely loved pillows, and always asked for extras in hotel rooms. He piled them around their heads and scattered a couple on the edges of the bed. When Sebastian asked him about them, he said that he didn’t want Sebastian moving too far away from him in the night. Not that he was prone to falling off the bed or anything, but just in case he started rolling too close to the edge.

It felt nice being surrounded by soft pillows. It was like a warm nest that shielded him from the cold. Despite the fact that the weather in Monaco was balmy and pleasant, there was still a coldness there. He turned onto his side, not wanting to stare at the cracks in the wall. Grabbing a pillow to his chest, Sebastian hugged it close and thought of Mark, waiting for him to return.

\---

“Lewis?”

Fernando’s voice was soft, as if trying to soothe a skittish animal.

“Lewis, are you alright?”

Lewis looked up from his mug. He had holed up in one of the hospitality bungalows, or whatever they were called, and no one had disturbed him. He felt better with a barrier surrounding him and cutting him off from everyone else, albeit a rather small and man-made one.

“How did you know I was here?” He winced at the hoarseness of his voice. It wasn’t from crying, Lewis hadn’t cried since once since he had gotten the news. He wondered briefly if that made him a bad person. What kind of person didn’t cry when the - the what? The best friend he threw away? The love of his life? Was Adrian the love of his life? For some reason reducing him to just that seemed too trivial. Adrian was more than that, he meant more to Lewis than just that. He was every good thing in Lewis’ life.

Fernando rolled his eyes and dropped to sit next to him, interrupting his thoughts. “You forget that I witnessed an entire year of you agonising and sulking and wanting to be left alone. I know where all your hiding spots are.”

Lewis turned back to stare at his tea. It had long gone cold. He couldn’t bring himself to drink, instead choosing to focus on it as if it was the only thing that was keeping him from falling apart.

“You can’t stay in here and blame yourself forever, Lewis.”

A part of him, the part that always enjoyed being contrary and getting on Fernando’s nerves, wanted to tell him that he could and was planning to do just that, at least for the rest of the weekend. Fernando somehow knew that Lewis had turned down Jenson’s invitation to go out and explore the city, and he had been trying to steer clear of his dad because the last time they were together, his dad had hugged him and he had cried for two hours and he didn’t think that he could go through that again.

He didn’t want to go out, because he usually went out with Adrian. His memories of race weekends were full of Adrian; the things they did, the places they discovered, the words they said to each other. Even after what had happened Adrian still invaded his mind. In many ways, Lewis was thankful for all the new circuits on the calendar as at least he wouldn’t be remembering all the things he did with Adrian at those places, but then he would realise that, for so many maddening and irreversible reasons he never got the chance with Adrian to do those things in the first place, and it would set him off again.

“Lewis, Trust me. I know we didn’t really have a good start to our relationship, but that was years ago, and I think we’ve gotten to a point where we can be friends...” He trailed off, sounding unsure for the first time since he had started speaking.

He didn’t want to leave the bungalow. He didn’t want to be around the others while they pretended they were alright and handled him with kid gloves just in case he exploded and broke down. If it was just with Fernando it might be alright. Fernando wouldn’t try and pretend that everything was okay.

Lewis realised that Fernando had stopped talking and he tried to recall the reason why.

That’s right - Fernando said that they were friends, but he sounded so hesitant and unsure of himself, like he still wasn’t sure even after all those years. Lewis knew that they were friends. He nodded slightly and Fernando took that as a cue to continue.

 ”Okay, so that’s why I need you to trust me on this. It’s not doing you any good staying in here. You need to stop blaming yourself for what happened. Adrian...he wouldn’t have wanted you to hate yourself. So please, trust me and let me help.” Because no one else has been allowed to, Lewis knew he nearly added.

He waited for Lewis to give some kind of reaction, almost as if hoping that he hadn’t gone too far.

A part of Lewis - a large, ugly part of him - wanted to tell Fernando to fuck off and leave him alone because he couldn’t possibly understand what Lewis was going through and he couldn’t possibly know what Adrian would have wanted. It was the same part that loved riling Fernando up and seeing how far he could push him before he snapped. It was always there just underneath the surface, even now, despite the fact that it was something he hadn’t needed for a while now.

He kept it in, not wanting to ruin years of hesitant and incremental progress towards friendship with something that he knew he would hate himself for saying later, once his head cleared. Perhaps he did need to cry, just to get everything out.

And what he said…Fernando was right. It wouldn’t hurt to try, if it was just with him. He couldn’t handle the others looking at him as he would never be able to tell if the concern in their eyes were real. He had to give this a try.

“Okay.”

Lewis wasn’t sure if Fernando heard him speak. It was so quiet that at first he was sure he had imagined himself saying it; that his mind was making things up that he wanted to hear, but then he realised that he hadn’t.

Fernando was right. He couldn’t stay like that forever; sooner or later he would have to stop. If he did this then at least he wouldn’t be alone. Plus, like Fernando had said - they were friends.

“Okay, I trust you.” He gave Fernando a small smile. It was more than he had managed since he was told the news, and it took more effort than would otherwise be required. But with it he felt a tiny sliver of optimism seep back in. It wasn’t anywhere near enough, but it would have to do.

\--- 

Fuck...it was over. That was his first thought. Why the fuck is it over being his second.

Nico had ended it. After nearly a year, Nico had finally ended it. It was a little over two weeks until their second - what was it? Anniversary? Would it be called an anniversary? That implied that they were in a relationship, and although they sort of were, it wasn’t romantic, or how normal relationships were. He celebrated his anniversaries with Corinna, because he loved her. This thing with Nico was nothing, so he shouldn’t be sitting at a bar with a boulder in his stomach and the other man’s words ringing through his head.

Well, so be it then. If Nico wanted it to be over, who was he to argue? The same had happened with Mika before him, and there were some extremely questionable encounters with David near the end, and there had been that thing with Rubens that he didn’t like to think about but was reminded of every single time he saw the other man…and, okay, some other messed up things happened as well, and somewhere along the way Ralf had gotten involved as well.

Maybe it was just bad judgment on his part. It would certainly explain all the fucked up shit he got himself involved in. Actually, now that he thought about it, his relationship (or whatever it was) with Nico was one of the more normal ones he had - if sneaking around with a male ex-teammate could ever be normal.

He signalled for the bartender to pour him another scotch. No one recognised him here. He could hide in the shadows of an already-darkened pub and pretend to be just another guy drowning his sorrows.

There weren’t any feelings involved. Nico, certainly, acted like he couldn’t stand Michael when they weren’t having sex, and even when they were Michael still felt that Nico was holding back, like he was still guarding himself against something. There had been that one time in Abu Dhabi when they were on the veranda of his hotel room, and Nico had freaked out when Michael started kissing him. It wasn’t the fear of being seen - they had done it in front of full-length windows in broad daylight before - and Michael never found out the reason as Nico had clammed up and wouldn’t tell him what was wrong. He also hated to be on top of Michael in bed, always wanting to be either beneath or beside him, and Michael couldn’t figure out why. He had given up trying to manoeuvre Nico in their third month together.

Well, now he didn’t have to think about it anymore. It was over, and they could get back to being teammates. It probably wouldn’t be like what he and Mika had, but they were friends throughout the whole thing and could still hang out after they had broken it off, and although they were cordial towards each other before they started sleeping together, it would be quite a stretch to call what he had with Nico  _friendship_. But neither would it be like what had happened with Rubens, when he had messed up so badly and refused to acknowledge it for the next decade. And he didn’t want to even think about that incredibly fucked up thing with his brother. No, Nico would slot in somewhere between, probably around where David was; polite and distant, with a slight hostility that dimmed with the years. He had seen David wear his 20 year anniversary shirts a couple of years ago, and although it may have been for the TV audiences, it still showed how far they had come in that time.

Anniversary. There was that word again. Why did he keep thinking about it? It was over. It wasn’t like he was planning to do anything special anyway.

They were talking again. Bloody hell, they were always talking, and laughing together, and gazing at each other, and touching each other and Michael wanted to march over there and tear them apart. Nico was his, dammit! He was the only one that Nico should smile at; he was the only one that got to kiss him -

This was stupid. He knew it was stupid; he had let Nico go already, and he liked Jenson well enough. And really, he probably never really had Nico in the first place. If he did then Nico would not have wanted to leave. Even when they were together, he made it no secret that his wife was still important to him. Who’s to say that Nico didn’t have someone else as well? Maybe he was with someone else back then as well, but he never told Michael because he was never asked. He was never Nico’s only one.

Michael tried to shake those thoughts from his head and turned to face Sebastian, who hovered close to him and away from the others. Mark wasn’t around, so Sebastian had taken to sticking close to him. He didn’t mind it; Sebastian was like a son to him, and his protective instincts came out in full force around him. He slung an arm around the younger man and started talking about his kids. It was a safe topic, and Sebastian laughed as he recounted their latest methods of trying to drive him insane.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the look that Nico gave Jenson. They ignored the other drivers around them, who all seem to realise that they were lost in their own little world and probably wouldn’t answer if called. Even if they weren’t involved, they would be soon. He remembered that look, and he misseed it. More than he ever thought was possible.

 ---

Sebastian could see Jenson and Nico on the other side of the church, heads bent towards each other and whispering. Jenson had given him a small wave when they had arrived and Nico had smiled. He wanted to go over there and speak to them, but he couldn’t. He suspected that if he did go over there he would open his mouth and nothing would come out. He didn’t know what he would say, and he couldn’t bring himself to get up from his place in the third row.

The smell of death was everywhere, just like the white flowers were everywhere, spreading throughout the church until the air was thick with a miasma of decay and he couldn’t see through the haze. It blinded him, choked him, until all he could think about was Adrian being blown up in the sky and his closed casket. Sebastian didn’t even know if he was in there. He didn’t know what he would find if he lifted the lid and peeked inside; an unrecognisable mass of charred flesh and bone that used to be alive, or nothing. Somehow, that was even worse, because it meant that there was nothing left of Adrian, nothing left that was identifiably him. He was just gone from the world. And like him, one day Sebastian was going to end up like that, and eventually he would be nothing but dust in the wind.

The funeral started. He could hear the whispers die down around him, and Mark held his hand when everyone had sat down and couldn’t see what he was doing, and for a moment it seemed better. He could still smell the decay everywhere, but there was no longer a buzzing in his ears from the hundreds of walking corpses. Mark felt so real next to him, so alive. His hand was warm and large and Sebastian leaned into him as if Mark was his anchor and he would float away if he did not hang on. Mark shifted closer as well, as close as he could without actually putting an arm around Sebastian and holding him tight. Their shoulders pressed against each other and Sebastian leaned into him, tilting his head slightly into him, trying to glean every bit of comfort that he could.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on Mark next to him, paying no attention to the speakers. He focused on Mark’s hand in his and the strength of his grasp. He felt the long line of Mark’s leg resting against his, warm and comforting. It wasn’t until he heard Lewis’ voice that he opened them again. His eyes focused on the front of the church where Lewis stood. He looked drained of life, solemn and haunted and bleak.

_“Adrian and I, sometimes we would do nothing but play video games all day, if we had nothing else to do, and even when we did. We almost missed Christmas dinner once because we were so intent on beating each other. He was really into his racing games, and I used to tease him that I could still beat him without using a special seat or wearing my racing gloves.”_

Sebastian almost didn’t get out of bed that morning, knowing that he would have to attend the funeral, but he dragged himself out of it anyway and now that he was here. He knew he should’ve just stayed in bed until the next day. He didn’t want to hear Lewis talking about how much he missed Adrian, how much he loved him and how sorry he was that he never got to make things right before Adrian died. He didn’t want to be there at the church in Starnberg, with its pews overflowing and thousands of fans waiting outside the doors. Would it be so bad if he hadn’t turned up? Nobody would miss him if it was just one day.

_“He was my friend, my best friend, and for a long time things were perfect. We were doing something that we loved and we had the rest of our lives ahead of us.”_

He was going to die as well, and so was Mark, and his family, and Heikki and Hanna, and everyone that he knew - they were all going to die. He felt smothered by that thought. He wanted to get out of there and take a bath to scrub himself of all the death that was clinging to his skin and inside of his lungs. Maybe then it would be easier to breathe.

_“We never really talked about what we wanted to do when we stopped racing, because it seemed so incredible that either one of us would ever want to stop. It was always assumed that we could continue to race together until the end, and the end was never going to come.”_

He still didn’t know if Hanna would ever forgive him for pushing her away, but maybe it would be better if she continued hating him. It would be easier for her if she could just forget about him. He was selfish and he didn’t want her to forget all the good times that they had together, but he doubted that she would ever think of him again without bringing herself pain. She wouldn’t be able to just remember the happy times.

He thought back to the last time that they had spoken. She cried and told him that he was breaking her heart.

_“I don’t think I can really explain just how much Adrian meant to me, and…I don’t really know what I’m going to do now that he’s gone.”_

Lewis and Adrian had been in love, and they never told each other until the very end, and now Adrian was gone. And one day, one way or another, Mark was going to leave him. And when that happened, he was going to float away into the sky with all the other dead souls, with nothing left to tether him to the ground.

 

 

 

* * *

 

**  
** **Blue Moon**

Lewis glared at the man in front of him and folded his arms over his chest. It had taken Fernando over fifteen minutes to get their drinks, and there weren’t even that many people at the bar. He hadn’t even wanted to come out in the first place, but Fernando told him that he just had to go out and have fun since they were in New York.

So he had been dragged to a bar that looked like an underground sex dungeon, and then Fernando had to gall to leave him sitting there whilst he flirted with the bartender. To be fair, she was flirting back as well; probably couldn’t resist the accent. He couldn’t really measure up, not when Fernando ‘my voice always sounds like it wants to make love to your soul” Alonso was speaking.

“Sorry Lewis,” said Fernando, “it took longer than I expected.”

Lewis rolled his eyes as Fernando took a sip of his beer. It took thirty seconds to crack open two bottles of beer and retrieve two glasses from under the counter; all the time after that was spent with Fernando batting his absolutely ridiculous eyelashes at the girl.

“You said you wanted me to have fun, and then you leave me here alone.” Lewis couldn’t help himself. “You were having fun, but I was trying to fend off three very drunk guys who all told me that they were lonely and wanted company for the night because apparently my skin is perfect for latex. I almost gave in because I thought you weren’t coming back to defend my virtue.”

Fernando choked a bit and set his glass back down as Lewis started laughing. “Relax man, I’m fine, just feeling left out here.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about her.” Fernando said flippantly, waving his hand in the direction of the bar. “Just a bit of fun, I’m not into women.”

It was Lewis’ turn to spit out his beer. Well, that was something new. “You were married for a million years! And then you had a girlfriend!” He nearly blurted out ”why didn’t you tell me?” before realising that it would make him come off like a jealous lover. And he was definitely not that.

“Well, perhaps I’m bisexual then, but leaning towards the gay side more. Raquel was special. She was completely different from what I expected.” His eyes took on a softer look then. “But we were leading separate lives even before the divorce. Sometimes I think we only got married because we were so busy and wanted to keep track of each other. And then you-know-what happened and it seemed kind of useless to tie each other down like that. So now she’s travelling the world and avoiding all the grand prix circuits because she’s seen too much of them already.”

“Oh.” So that was what actually happened. All these years and he never really got the full story behind it. “And what are you doing then? Apart from flirting with random women you aren’t even attracted to?”

“I go out with men that I am attracted to.”

“Do you ever do both at the same time?” Fernando stared at him. For god’s sake, stop flirting with him, you twit! Lewis bit his lip, berating himself mentally.

Fernando shrugged. “Occasionally. Never worked out particularly well, to be perfectly honest.”

Lewis laughed and relaxed into the booth. It wasn’t too bad. The decor could definitely use some work, as he wasn’t particularly partial to sex dungeons, but it was nice to just sit there with Fernando and not have anywhere to be or anything to do. It felt normal. It was the kind of thing he used to do all the time, just hang out with friends and take some time off to blow off steam.

Fernando talked about all sorts of things, from classical music to winter sports and European history. It was almost like being back at school, although Lewis never paid much attention in his lessons. Fernando made it seem so much more interesting, mainly because he focused on random and inane trivia rather than the supposedly important things.

The more the night went on, the more Lewis realised that Fernando was right. He really needed to get out more, but it was hard to do so when most people still had pity in their eyes when they looked at him, and he hated that. It was accusing; it reminded him of the fight they had and how it was his entire fault. With Fernando, it was different. He had certainly never treated him delicately when they were teammates, and he had even less reason to do it now, and it was absolutely perfect. With Fernando, Lewis could be himself again and not have to worry about what the other person was thinking. It was a refreshing change from everything else that had happened, and he wasn’t going to let it go lightly.

There had been an orchestra on the grid.

Bernie had apparently decided that the best memorial for Adrian would be a ceremony on the track right before a race.

The funeral had happened a few days after that, and Adrian’s mother approached him to write a speech for it. Then she hugged him and told him how much Adrian had loved him. It made him want to cry. No, it made him want to jump in his car and drive until he crashed into a wall and flew 50 feet into the air and landed on a fucking railing spike. He should be the one comforting her; she had just lost her son. Instead, he buried his head into her shoulder and sobbed as she rubbed his back soothingly. Did she know that it was all his fucking fault, that he was the one who did something unforgivable but Adrian had still forgiven him in the end? Did she know how much he had hated himself then? 

He didn’t even know what he was going to say in his speech. He had to reduce everything they shared into a couple of paragraphs, when in reality it couldn’t really be described in mere words.

The orchestra started up. Lewis hadn’t known what exactly they were playing; only that it was a Bach piece, the one that Adrian loved to play for him when they were alone. Lewis didn’t pretend to know anything about classical music, but it was soft and wistful and light, and it made him think about their future together, but standing on the track, listening to the sounds emerging from in front of him, from the loudspeakers, it had felt like an accusation.

\---

Nico felt numb. It was a feeling he was unused to. He wasn’t even sure if he could feel his legs and his arms moved as if by autopilot. He could see Michael on the other side of the bar, with a blank look on his face and diligently ignoring him.

He knew he was being unfair; after all, he was the one who broke it off, and Michael was just probably being considerate by ignoring him and suppressing the would-be awkward vibes between them. Still, it seemed like Michael wasn’t bothered at all by the end of their relationship, or whatever it was. Nico had got in too deep, he knew that, and he wasn’t sure if Michael felt the same way.

They should’ve talked, but they never did. Every time they met, it was always the same. They had sex, they fell asleep, and then one of them would leave in the morning. They didn’t talk about anything, not even trivial matters like what TV shows they enjoyed or what music they listened to. It was a silent dance, and Nico couldn’t help but feel that Michael was always in the lead, so he had tried to take that away for once and end it. It was supposed to help him; he was supposed to forget about Michael, and they would go back to being polite but distant whenever they met.

But that didn’t explain why he still thought about him. It didn’t explain why he was still reluctant to meet Corinna’s eye, even though after the divorce. He still felt guilty, and with good reason, he supposed. It had seemed easy to want Michael to leave her to be with him instead when they were together, but outside the bedroom it was harder to justify it to himself. After all, it was just sex for Michael. It would always be just that. He was too naïve to realise that their fucked up situation was something other than Michael having fun. He had a wife and two beautiful children and everything in his life was perfect. Michael wasn’t in love with him. Michael probably didn’t even like him that much.

Nico sighed and turned back to look at the man sitting next to him. Jenson was watching him with a wry smile. He needed something to distract him so that he would stop thinking about Michael every day; something that could take away the possibility of Nico giving in and begging Michael to take him back, not caring if he remained the other man’s dirty little secret.

“It must be hard for you.”

Nico raised his eyebrows. Jenson was on his fifth beer already, and had already made significant headway into polishing it off.

“What do you mean?” Nico took another sip of his glass before setting it down and pushing it towards the middle of the table. He wanted to turn around. The need was always there; he felt it like a physical ache. He needed a distraction.

Jenson’s hand paused on the way to his mouth, hovering in the air before he sighed and set it down as well. “Well, being here.” He gestured around at the pub with both his hands, which Nico took to mean “in Germany” and gave a slight chuckle.

“I mean, I don’t know exactly what went on between you and Michael, but judging by the way he actively avoided looking at you when you were near him and then would not stop staring when you were far away, something happened between you two.” He paused and glanced over Nico’s shoulder. “He’s giving me the evil eye right now.”

Nico snorted. “No he’s not. You’re imagining things. You’re getting old Jenson. I think you need some glasses now.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m the old man.” Jenson laughed and quickly drained the rest of his beer before raising his hand to signal for another glass.

“Woah, easy there Jenson,” Nico said, “if you get drunk you’ll miss out on the rest of the activities.” Was he actually going to do it?

“Mmm, wait - what activities?” He looked so puzzled. “I thought you invited me out to drink and observe how you Germans celebrated Christmas. It doesn’t seem very festive, at the moment. I was expecting a roasting pig and a mountain of potatoes.”

Nico stifled a laugh. ‘that’s because it’s Christmas Eve. Tomorrow it’ll be different. You may overdose on starch then.” He paused, wondering if he should go ahead. He really enjoyed Jenson’s company, and their friendship had grown by leaps and bounds over the past few months. He didn’t think that Jenson would turn him down (he had barely battered an eyelash at the Michael thing) but still, he couldn’t be entirely sure.

“Actually, I invited you out as a prelude to a relatively sober but still fantastic night in my bed, but if you rather be drunk…”

Jenson’s expression froze then, which was quite amusing to witness. The waitress had stopped expectantly next to his raised hand but he took no notice, his gaze still fixed on Nico. He was beginning to worry when Jenson suddenly grabbed his wallet and scattered a few notes on the table, muttering a quick ‘thanks” to the confused girl before grabbing Nico’s hand and pulling him out of the pub. Nico caught Michael out the corner of his eye. Nico couldn’t be sure if he was looking at them, and he was struck by a sudden vindictiveness that made him want to hurt Michael, if he would actually be hurt by anything, that is.

It was quite cold outside, the brisk December air biting through their jackets and jeans. Jenson turned left and strode forward, unaware that he was going in the complete opposite direction of their hotel. Nico tugged at his hand. “Jenson, it’s this way.”

Jenson stopped before turning and giving Nico a sheepish grin. “Sorry. Too excited.” He laced his fingers with Nico’s and set off again. “You can’t expect me to be thinking straight when you spring something like that on me!”

Nico laughed and let himself be led. He didn’t think about Michael for the rest of the night.

 ---

It had taken them years to get to that point in their lives. Now, after nearly a decade of knowing each other, and a lot of that time spent hating (or at least silently disliking) each other, they had reached the point of no return. Perhaps that wasn’t true. It wasn’t like he was facing a firing range or anything; it just felt strange going forward given their history together.

Fernando turned to look at Lewis beside him. Lewis smiled at him before his attention was back on his book. It was wide and honest and without the chuckle that usually came with his smiles; the kind that had rarely been bestowed upon Fernando in the past. Things had definitely changed between them since Fernando first dragged Lewis out in Shanghai the previous year, and the events of their year together as teammates paled in comparison to those of the past few years.

Some things didn’t change, though. Fernando was still at Ferrari, and was starting to think that he would be there until the end. Lewis was still at McLaren; it was impossible imagining him in any other team. He still felt the same thrill when chasing down Lewis’ silver McLaren, the same drive to beat the younger man, but it had ceased to be an all-consuming need and had instead mellowed out, leaving him contented and happy. It was nice racing against a friend.

Not that Lewis was strictly a “friend”, either. “Friend” was where they were at last Christmas, when the two had decided to ditch their respective home countries and headed out to the Caribbean. Since then, instead of staying firmly within the “friend” boundaries, their relationship had decided to slowly but deliberately meander down the path towards “lovers”. It hadn’t made it there yet, and had stalled and backtracked a couple of times, but it was definitely headed that way.

Fernando was the only other driver apart from Nico that Lewis spoke to regularly, and after his initial apprehensiveness, Lewis had really opened up to Fernando. He knew about the younger man’s fears and dreams, about what made him happy and what got him so angry that he stopped forming coherent sentences. He knew Lewis’ good days, when they would hang out and have fun and talk about anything they could think of.

He also knew Lewis’ bad days, when they would go about their own business and barely speak to each other. Fernando gave Lewis his space on those days, because he knew that those were the days when Lewis woke up crying about Adrian. He still felt the guilt. Although it didn’t consume him as it had before, it was still there, throbbing in the back of his mind, threatening to overwhelm everything. But the bad days were gradually disappearing; the silence no longer a reflection of Lewis’ mood, and now even on the worst days Lewis still had a smile for Fernando. He just hoped that he was enough to make all of Lewis’ bad days go away.

Fernando stood up from the sofa and wandered into the kitchen. It was in the same minimalistic style as the rest of Lewis’ house. The fridge was stocked only with liquids, and the cabinets and shelves that did not contain unused dinnerware sets all housed various types of candies that stood ready to assuage Lewis’ sweet tooth.

The only thing that looked used was the kettle. Fernando filled it up and flipped the switch before retrieving two mugs from the cupboard and the carton of milk from the fridge. He picked up the bright blue condiments jar labelled SALT and set it beside the milk; sugar was the only thing in that jar, along with the flour jar, the pepper jar and the actual sugar jar.

He leaned against the counter and waited for the water to boil, studying the photographs that hung on the wall, each in its own black frame. Most of them were shots of Lewis and his team celebrating after a victory, so there was an explosion of Vodafone red that assaulted his senses. He recognised a lot of the faces staring back at him, even though he had forgotten some of their names.

A few of the shots were bereft of the colour, and he focused his eyes on them. There were a few of his family, and even less of his friends. Holiday shots from the Bahamas and New Zealand caught his eye, and he stepped towards the wall to study them more closely. He recognised all of those photos, even the ones with Lewis’ family. He saw the one that was taken when he had first gone to meet Lewis’ mum and stepmum and they had both hugged him so hard he was afraid they would crack his ribs, and the one when they had made dinner at his house and told him that they owed it to his mother to make sure he had a home-cooked meal.

He moved on to the next few, which were mostly of him and Lewis in various locales around the world, drinking together, laughing together, or just looking at each other. It wasn’t until he made it to the last of the photos that he realised he was in every single one of them. He could feel his heart leap into his throat even as the voice in the back of his mind reminded him that Lewis had probably done the same thing with Adrian, and he was just a replacement. He ignored it and continued to study the photos. When had Lewis put these up? Was it all in one go or did he mount them one by one until a dozen Fernandos were adorning his walls?

The kettle whistled and he went back to the task at hand. He heard Lewis get up from the sofa and make his way to the kitchen, no doubt drawn by the promise of tea. He spooned three sugars into Lewis’ mug and picked it up, turning to hold it out to Lewis whilst he held his own, unsweetened tea in his other hand.

Lewis smiled and walked up to him. He hands came up and he wrapped both of them around Fernando’s. They felt warmer than the tea. Then Lewis leaned in and kissed him. It was soft, but not hesitant. Fernando felt Lewis smiling against his lips and he knew that he was doing the same thing.

They broke apart and Fernando extracted his hand from Lewis’, choosing instead to press it against the younger man’s back as they made their way out of the kitchen and to the sofa. He sat down and set his mug on the coffee table, picking up the magazine that he was reading. Lewis, however, ignored his book and sat next to him, pressing their sides close together as he nudged his way under Fernando’s arm and settled on his chest as he slung his arm around Fernando’s waist. Fernando kissed the top of Lewis’ head and angled the magazine so that Lewis could read. They said nothing, because there was nothing they needed to say.

After months of wandering, their relationship, no doubt exhausted by the detours and dead ends, had finally reached its destination.

\---

It didn’t really feel like Christmas. The sun was too bright, and the air too warm. It was the first Christmas that Sebastian had spent without snow, the first one where he wasn’t bundled up next to a roaring fire with hot chocolate, observing the world on the other side of the window from the comfort of his favourite chair. The last few Christmases, however, had been tainted. Nothing felt right, and it seemed useless to Sebastian that people should be celebrating when it was just another day closer to their deaths.

This was different. He felt himself sink into the sand as the sea rolled out; his arms outstretched as he closed his eyes and listened to the soft waves lapping against the shore, and it was beautiful. The beach was absolutely divine. There was no one else out there, especially on that day. He felt alive, as if the world was whispering and only he could hear it.

Sebastian opened his eyes and extracted his feet from the sand. It was close to nine, but the sky was still a dusty pink. There was a slight chill in the air, but nothing that would require a jacket. He turned around and walked back to the house. It was situated right on the beach, with the backyard opening out onto the sand, its edges eaten away by the encroaching surf. Despite this, a peeling white fence lined the sides of the property,  as if trying to pretend that it was in the suburbs and could stand straight and proud.

The house itself was small but charming. Cosy. They didn’t need the space; it was only ever going to be the two of them there. It had two bedrooms, with the larger one looking out over the ocean. The smaller one would be a guest room of sorts, although Sebastian knew that no one would ever sleep in the bed there. He wasn’t planning on telling anyone about the place. Perhaps they’ll turn it into a study, or a games room. The kitchen was painted a cheerful green and yellow, which seemed to sing to him now that it was finally fully stocked. The lights cast a warm glow that reminded him of a setting sun, and there wasn’t a fireplace in sight. Too hot, Mark had said. They would never need one here.

He had been hesitant at first about spending Christmas in Australia. It wasn’t until Mark told him that they would be alone that he had agreed. As much as he liked Mark’s friends, he didn’t feel like being around anyone for a while. They hadn’t ended up in Sydney either, as Mark thought it too hectic, especially in the holidays. Instead, he had driven them 200 miles north to a tiny town almost falling into the ocean, to a house that he had purchased a couple of months ago as a surprise for Sebastian.

Old Bar, New South Wales. It didn’t attract many tourists, and the ones that did come blended into the background, happy to find a place that was quiet and peaceful, each content to keep to themselves. Privacy was a valuable commodity those days. They had already been there for a week, and they hadn’t gotten more than a polite smile and nod of acknowledgement from their neighbours, and everything was perfect. Everyone was living their own lives, and although they were new in town, it was a relief to find that none of them had an interest in his. He could blend into the background even though he knew that some of the residents there recognised him or Mark, either from a faded Ferrari cap or the glint of recognition in their eyes when they spotted them. They said nothing though, and Sebastian wanted to stay for as long as he could.

He stepped from the sand onto what appeared to be sand and some green lumps, but was actually the grass of their backyard. In a few years it would probably be gone and the back of their house would open onto the ocean, but at that moment it was still valiantly struggling against the inevitable. He could smell the steaks that Mark had just taken off the grill. The table outside had been set with plates of cold meats, seafood, salads and fruits, along with a strawberry and cream-topped desert. Two candles in small glass cups lit the scene, and Sebastian could see a bottle of champagne sitting in ice next to the table.

Mark came out of the house then, holding napkins and cutlery, looking for all the world like a domesticated husband, and Sebastian had to smile. Mark grinned as he saw Sebastian and held out his hands as he gave a small bow, as if presenting the table. “I hope you’re hungry.”

Sebastian leaned in to kiss Mark. “Of course I am, I’m a growing boy, after all!”

“Of course,” Mark mocked softly, “we’ll need to buy you some larger jeans so you can grow into them.”

Sebastian huffed and leaned in again. “Just you wait; I’ll be taller than you someday!”

Mark laughed and moved to pull out the chairs.

They sat down and Mark opened the champagne, pouring it out in two glasses. He started chuckling again as he handed Sebastian his glass. “Every time I see a bottle of champagne, I want to shake it and spray it over myself. Don’t think I’ll ever get rid of that urge now.”

Sebastian hummed in agreement, sipping at the champagne before stretching over to pour a bit of it over Mark’s head. “See, this is celebration champagne. If we’re just drinking it without pouring some over ourselves then it becomes drown-our-sorrows champagne. We can’t let it become that!”

Mark nodded and copied his movements, and Sebastian could feel the familiar sensation of champagne running down under his shirt.

It wasn’t like any other Christmas he had known, but he was with Mark, at least for now. For the first time in years, Christmas finally felt right again, and everything was perfect.

 

 

 

* * *

 

**  
** **Blood**

Tribute to Fallen Formula 1 Driver

_By Alexander Lehane_

_Thursday, 27 December 2016, 12:32_

 

Thousands of fans have come today to pay tribute to Adrian Sutil, who tragically died in London last year after the car he was in collided with a bus. The driver of the vehicle died on impact while Sutil was attended to by paramedics for several minutes before being declared dead at the scene.

It was believed that he was visiting fellow Formula 1 driver Lewis Hamilton, with whom he had a falling out after his arrest and subsequent trial in 2012. Although the relationship between the two was damaged after that incident, many in the F1 paddock have commented that in recent months the two were often spotted talking to each other. The damage to their friendship, therefore, did not appear to be irreparable.

Lewis Hamilton’s teammate Nico Rosberg is just one who was witness to this change.

“They were friends again. Even when they were apart, they cared for each other deeply. It was inevitable, really.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

**  
** **Three, Two, One**

It was such a cliché, Kimi thought, to be in love with one of your best friends. Then again, he was once an overpaid sportsman with a glamorous wife. His entire life was a fucking cliché; it figured that he would only just be figuring it out, after the freaking apocalypse. Okay, so the world hadn’t ended yet, but it was only a matter of time, and he had just realised that he was in love with Sebastian.

Kimi would do something about it. Hell, if this were any other time, Kimi would’ve said something about it the moment he realised and spent rest of the time defiling Sebastian in a broom closet or whatever they have in the Red Bull garage, not agonising over how fucking crappy his timing was because Sebastian was with Mark now, and actually seemed happy. Kimi liked Mark - he liked anyone who was brutally honest and didn’t mince their words - and he always tried to stay neutral during their previous fights, but it was hard saying no to Sebastian. That kid was made out of freaking rainbows and puppies most of the time.

They seemed happy, and so Kimi left them alone.

It seemed like the revelations that emerged caused a whole lot of shit to go down in the Formula 1 world. It caused shit to go down in the ordinary world as well, but Kimi couldn’t be expected to keep up with everything that happened. Kimi ran into Nico at a bar and they ended up in a hotel room together for three days. Then there was Jenson, who really got into it when Kimi stuck his hand down his pants at a party (although he may have been imagining that it was someone else, Kimi couldn’t be sure). And of course there was Romain, who fucking would not stop smiling the entire time. Kimi had decided to move the blindfold down to his mouth until he realised that it would be no use because Romain was one of those weird people who smiled with their entire face. He almost went for Lewis, and he would’ve gotten him as well, if it weren’t for some rather extenuating circumstances. Who knew Fernando could be so protective? And when did those two become such fucking good friends? Kimi could remember the bitching - oh, how Fernando had bitched about Lewis - back in their first year together. It was glorious. And hilarious. And just what Kimi needed to get him over the line.

So he was living his life, and it was all fine. He wasn’t going to do anything about his feelings for Sebastian, and those two would ride off into the sunset together and adopt a football team of babies and spend the rest of their lives together. That was his plan.

It had been going well too, until that phone call from Sebastian.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Did anyone, really?

“I don’t know if this is the right thing. I mean, Mark and I got together rather quickly. Well, it took a few months, but taking everything into consideration I think that was pretty fast and sometimes I feel like what was happening when we got together buried all the problems that we were having with each other before. We just, kind of…forgot about all that.”

 _Like what happened in Malaysia_ , Kimi wanted to blurt out, but he held his tongue.

“He’s wonderful, and amazing, but…I mean, I know that he’s right for me, he’s been so amazingly patient throughout everything, so understanding. Sometimes I wonder how he does it, because it must be tiring.”

Kimi had to cover his mouth to stifle a sigh. If Sebastian had called him up just to talk about how awesome Mark was, well, Kimi may have been happy for them in his own way, but he wasn’t some kind of masochistic stalker and he didn’t want to hear about all the sappy feelings that Sebastian had for his soul mate.

“I don’t think I’m right for him.”

Sebastian’s voice had become so soft that it took a minute for his words to register in Kimi’s mind.

“I don’t think he should be with me. I mean, he needs someone…”

Someone…someone what? Better?

“He doesn’t need me. I need him, but he doesn’t need me. I’m just, dragging him down, and he shouldn’t be.”

Kimi closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He really didn’t want to be present for that conversation. Hearing about them being happy was bad, but hearing about Sebastian having doubts just made it even worse, because the tremor in Sebastian’s voice caused the embers to smoulder and spark into a flame and caused Kimi to hope that maybe, just maybe -

“I just don’t know what to do, because I know that Mark wouldn’t do anything even if there was something wrong, and he’ll stay with me until the end, and I don’t want him to. I want him to actually be happy - really happy - and I don’t think that he can be with me. I mean, content, yes, but that’s not real happiness, right?”

In the end, Sebastian had steamrolled Kimi into agreeing with him, even though Kimi didn’t really understand everything that he was saying. He didn’t know if Sebastian just needed someone, anyone, to agree with him to justify what he was feeling or if he needed someone to tell him that he was wrong and to reassure him that he and Mark were meant to be together.

And Kimi - well, he could tell himself that it was for the best, that if Sebastian was having these doubts and was telling him about them, then perhaps Sebastian wasn’t as happy as he seemed to be and it was right that they need to break up. Perhaps Sebastian had already made up his mind and just needed someone to talk to so he could reassure himself that he was doing the right thing.

Or, perhaps it wasn’t going to happen. Everyone had doubts when they were in a relationship, no matter how in love they were. Perhaps it was just a normal process that Sebastian was going through and nothing would happen and they would be together forever. Yes, that would probably be the case.

Still, he couldn’t help but think about what it would be like if Mark and Sebastian did break up. Kimi replayed the phone call in his mind, telling himself over and over that he was only trying to help Sebastian. Perhaps if he said it enough times, he would someday believe it. 

\---

His brother was dead.

Holy  _fuck_ , his little brother was dead.

Sure, Ralf was a pain in the ass a lot of the time - as most younger siblings were - but to have him gone, just like that? It was unnerving. Ralf was the one who knew everything about him, who followed him around when they were younger, occasionally shaking his head at Michael and fixating on him those intense stares, as if saying “you idiot, if I were you, I wouldn’t do that”.

Ralf wasn’t supposed to die before him. He wanted to turn away from the casket, feeling like he had failed her.

_You’re a big brother now, Michael._

Ralf was going to be buried next to their mother. After all those years, Michael still missed her terribly. When he was still young, she would kiss his head and tell her how proud she was. It never changed, even when Ralf came along, and Michael’s initial bitterness towards his new sibling soon dissipated once his mother smiled and told him that he would be the best big brother ever. He”d tried, he really did, but he knew that he fell short, by a long way. He had tried to tell himself that that was what happened when siblings competed against each other, but he knew that he could’ve done better.

They grew up together, and they were supposed to grow old together, for better or worse. That was the thing about family; they could pluck out your eyes and tear your heart into a thousand pieces but they would always be family. His brother would always be his, no matter how long they had been apart. Perhaps that was why he never apologised. He always assumed that there would be enough time to mend their relationship. He didn’t know that his brother would be dead by the time he was forty years old.

The media went crazy. Everyone had thought that he would die during a race, not run down by a drunk driver when it was barely dark.

Michael couldn’t face them, didn’t have the heart to face them. They were like vultures, wait to get a shot of him breaking down and crying, and although he really, really wanted to, he didn’t want to do it when they were watching.

_You have to look after him, for me, for the times when I won’t be around._

He tried to remember the last time they talked - Michael had called him, again, to talk about Nico. Ralf was the only one who knew about his relationship with Nico, after being woken up too many times in the middle of the night by Michael calling to panic about what he was doing to Corinna and the kids and his life. He knew that Ralf would never tell anyone, no matter what happened between them.

He tried to remember the last time they talked about something other than his problems - and he couldn’t. When was the last time he asked his brother about how he was doing and was actually, genuinely interested? He couldn’t remember. It shouldn’t be that long ago, but it was. He felt the shame rise up in his throat, hot and cloying, threatening to spill, so that everyone would know what a bad person he was.

He had agreed so readily then, at first because he loved her and would do anything for her, and later because Ralf had fallen asleep in his lap listening to Michael talking to him about racing and how fun it was and how he couldn’t wait until Ralf was old enough so they could race against each other, because he would love it too.

He couldn’t remember when that had all changed, when Ralf became a rival first and his brother second, when his ambitions and pride threatened to swallow everyone around him and he passed it off as collateral damage, because he didn’t think that he should care. When had Ralf become his possession?

So this was what it meant, that wretched word. He should’ve told Ralf how much he meant, how much he was loved. He should’ve...he should’ve done so much more, and now he would never get another chance.

_You’ll be his best friend, Michael, his protector._

Michael turned away from the casket and made his way back to his seat. He caught sight of Corinna and their kids in the first row, Nico and Mika in the second, and in the third... Yet more people that he failed. They were all there to witness his time of judgement, it seemed. He sat down quickly next to David and gave Cora a reassuring smile above his head. She returned it shakily, as if she wasn’t sure if she could.

That had been a surprise, finding that Cora still held him in high esteem; he wasn’t even sure that she ever actually liked him. He knew that she could feel the waves of shame rolling off him as they waited at the hospital, and yet she still hugged him and comforted him and allowed him to do the same to her. It gave him hope, that maybe - just maybe - he could still fix things. The passage of time had soothed over past hurts, but just because they were no longer the open, festering wounds they were years ago didn’t mean that he shouldn’t apologise, no matter how late it was. They were still there, healed-over and no longer hurting, but still there, always a reminder of what had happened. And if he could fix things with Rubens and Eddie and everyone else that he wronged (everyone else in his life, he tells himself) then maybe, just maybe, he’d be worthy of someone like Nico, and maybe...

He stopped himself - he shouldn’t get his hopes up. He should just apologise to Nico about what happened between the two of them. If he was lucky, maybe they could be friends. If he could go back, he would stop himself from dragging the younger man into the game that was his life, but it was too late for that.

It was too late for a lot of things.

\---

The fundamental difference between him and Lewis, Fernando mused, was that he had accepted the fact that he would one day get out of that life, that one day he would leave it all behind and not look back. He was actually looking forward to it, lazy days with no commitments that seemed to stretch and blur into each other, with no one asking for yet another hour of his time for things that he will forget the next day. He probably wouldn’t hang around as a commentator or just keep showing up to all the races even though he had nothing official to do. Not that it would be a painful reminder or anything, just that when he made a break he wanted it to be clean and complete. He didn’t want it hanging around like in some painful limbo. Sure, he loved what he did, but he nevertheless relished the thought that one day it will come to an end.

As all things must.

Lewis, however, was different. Fernando knew that he didn’t want to stop, that he never wanted to stop. Whenever they talked about their future, Lewis talked about racing. In those instances, Fernando would stay silent. He didn’t think Lewis ever noticed.

It was alright when they were younger, that stout determination and enthusiasm, as every young driver starting out in Formula 1 thought that he was going to last forever, that they would see it through to the very end. It didn’t take long for disappointments, injuries and missed opportunities to take their toll and an older, wiser and slight bitterer driver to take their place. Not beaten, or resigned. A realist. Someone who accepted what was going to happen, and didn’t make himself promises that couldn’t be kept.

It was something that Fernando had realised rather quickly, even though he had always been fairly successful. Strangely enough, it had come after his first championship. He had broken Michael’s rule, and if someone like Michael Schumacher could be beaten…then, well, none of them were going to stick around forever. Sooner or later, someone else would come along, someone younger and more talented that would set the stage for a new era of drivers, all filled with the same need to rewrite history.

He had seen it happen with himself as the years passed, although he was still competitive even until the end, and he had no doubt that given the right car he would’ve gotten that third championship. So many near misses. The closest one perhaps that first year with Lewis, when everything was so confusing and frustrating and exhilarating and Fernando saw the world through a constant mist of red that saturated everything until all he knew was the rage.

That had passed, eventually. At times he had found himself looking back on it with an almost fondness, although he supposed that had more to do with the fact that he was slowly becoming friends with Lewis and not out of any dulling of his sense or his memories over time. That was the first time he had met Lewis, so of course he was fond of those memories. It showed him that despite their less than ideal beginning, they had managed to create something wonderful.

Fernando wasn’t trying to take anything back from that. It had been wonderful, but the seed had been planted in Lewis’ head in their first year together that Fernando would always be there, always be the one for him to beat, and that thought had taken over until it no longer occurred to him that one day he would have to race without Fernando.

That had been the issue behind their first big fight. It had lasted for the entire summer break of 2016, and the result was that they had spent their first summer as a couple apart. They had reconciled and never spoke of it again, even though Fernando wanted to, needed Lewis to understand that he was going to retire, and soon. He was the oldest driver on the grid now and even though he was still up there with the best of them, he knew that it was his time. Hell, some of the newer drivers were half his age now. He was old enough to be their father. It was a sobering thought.

God, was he ever that young? Did he ever look so - inexperienced and green but so damn enthusiastic that it made up for any shortcomings in experience and ego. He couldn’t remember.

He realised that his announcement was going to be rather early given how these things usually happened, but he wanted to tell everyone at his home race. There would no doubt be a frenzy of activity following his announcement and he doubted that he would get any peace for the next few months.

It would be his last chance as well. He wasn’t surprised, really. His success saw the addition of a second Spanish race and his retirement would see the demise of both. Valencia had already been off the calendar for a few years, and Catalunya was going to have their final race that year. That had been decided long before he had decided to retire, but in hindsight he couldn’t help but think that it was the universe’s way of telling him that it was his time to go. He wasn’t that disappointed to see both races go. It made everything easier, actually, although he could feel the shame rising in him as he admitted it to himself. It made things easier, because it meant that maybe the Spanish fans wouldn’t care so much if he left. There weren’t any other Spanish drivers on the grid, and there was no promising youngster wowing the crowds and waiting for his chance in Formula 1.

No, Formula 1 had come into Spain, conquered it, and was now retreating after it had drained the land dry. Might as well make it a complete exit.

He turned over his phone and checked the time. Lewis would be back from lunch soon. It would be his last chance to talk with Lewis, really talk to him, before they had to fly out and the media circus descended upon them both. He was going to go through with it whether Lewis agreed or not, so he had to tell him that night.

He just hoped Lewis would understand.

\---

Jenson yawned and continued gathering his things. He didn’t have much lying around Nico’s place, just some clothing and some toiletries, nothing permanent, nothing that would indicate it would ever become permanent. He knew Nico was still hurting over someone else, and he was just a distraction. He didn’t mind. It wasn’t like he hadn’t gone into the relationship thinking that it was something different. They were on the same page from the start, so when Nico had looked over at him with those sad eyes Jenson knew it was time.

Jenson didn’t know, officially, who Nico was pining over and he didn’t think that Nico would actually tell him but he could make a pretty good guess. He noticed how Nico always changed the subject whenever a certain someone came up in conversation, how he shifted his gaze and his smile became fixed and rigid. And from the few times that Jenson had seen him again, Michael Schumacher wasn’t doing any better. First his brother and then the divorce, it had to be tough for him.

Jenson remembered how Nico had shut down the day that piece of news broke. They had been debating what movie to watch as Jenson was scrolling through the news, and he had blurted out in shock when he got to the article. Nico then claimed to be feeling ill and they cancelled their plans for the day, Jenson ended up playing video games and making soup while Nico rested.

Supposedly.

It wasn’t until later when Jenson pieced together what was actually going on that he realised the enormity of situation. If they had been together in the past, then Michael was still married, which would have undoubtedly been a sore point in their relationship. And now that Michael was single again, then…but did they still want to be together?

Jenson and Nico had fun together. It was hard not to, because Nico was always cheerful and cheeky and up for anything. Jenson teased him constantly about his hair and he in turn was adamant that Jenson’s hairline was receding. It wasn’t, but Nico would always look at him in mock concern and tell him that he was turning into a creepy old man.

They never talked about the future. They didn’t need to, it seemed, because they had an unspoken agreement that they wouldn’t be having a future together. It was sad but it was good and just what he needed. He still didn’t know what he wanted to do, but he knew that he wouldn’t have Nico in his life for much longer, at least not in the way he had him then.

So it didn’t come as much of a surprise when it ended. They had been together for nearly a year, which was longer than Jenson had expected.

A part of him wanted to hang onto Nico and what they had because he didn’t want to think about everything that he had to do, everything that he was expected to do. He supposed that it made him rather selfish, and he couldn’t do that.

Their last night together Nico had talked and Jenson had listened, although he had already pieced together some of the story by himself. He guessed that they were once together and that their breakup had to do with Michael’s marriage. He didn’t know about the circumstances around how they got together or about how they never really talked about anything when they weren’t having sex or the times when Nico told himself that it was going to be the last time but it never was until the time that it was. He heard about the slow and unwanted shift from lust and infatuation to love and denial and finally to acceptance and heartbreak.

Nico told the entire story without once looking at Jenson, choosing instead to focus on their clasped hands. It wasn’t until he finished that he looked up, surprising Jenson.

“Do you think I’m a bad person?”

The look that Nico had given him then, it was too open, and too raw, like a gaping hole where Jenson could peer inside to the depths of his soul and see his heart laid bare.

“No,” Jenson had told him. “No, you’re not a bad person. You could never be a bad person.”

“But I -”

_Had an affair with a married man, probably helped destroy his marriage, left him without warning -_

Jenson didn’t say any of that though, because he knew that was what Nico was thinking.

“You’re not a bad person, Nico. Everyone makes mistakes, everyone has lapses in judgement, and sometimes things just don’t work out.”

Nico still looked hesitant and Jenson knew that he did not believe it; he had convinced himself that he was horrible.

“You’ve made mistakes, yes, and you need to forgive yourself. Otherwise it’s just going to eat you up inside and you won’t be able to move on or make it right.”

Nico seemed alarmed at that, and Jenson didn’t understand why until he realised that Nico had never entertained the thought that perhaps he could do something to make things right or at least make peace with Michael. Whatever they decided to do, they both needed closure and to actually talk with each other for once.

“I’m…I…I don’t know if he would listen to me now. I don’t even know what I would say to him if I saw him again.”

“Tell him all the things that you wanted to tell him when you were still together.”

“Even -“

“Yes, even that. He deserves the truth, the good and the bad.”

Nico looked hesitant, almost scared, but Jenson could see the gradual resolve in his eyes and the way that he clenched and unclenched his hands, almost as if steeling himself for the conversation that he needed to have.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure that Michael will have things to tell you too,” he said as he pulled the blankets over them and ran his fingers slowly through Nico’s hair, feeling soft puffs of air ghosting over his collarbones.

“And I’m sure that some of it you won’t want to hear.”

\---

It was inevitable, really. So much so that when it actually happened, Sebastian didn’t really notice until it was over.

Mark left him.

Mark walked away and Sebastian stayed where he was. There was no huge argument, no recriminations, no tears. Mark simply kissed Sebastian’s forehead and whispered ‘thank you” before walking out the door, and Sebastian had let him.

He had momentarily thought about holding Mark and never letting him go, and when Mark walked out the door he thought about running after him and begging him to stay, and when Mark boarded his plane that night he thought about leaving everything behind and chasing after him even though he didn’t know where Mark had gone.

He didn’t do any of that. Instead, he had stood there and stared at his front door. He could still feel the warmth of Mark’s kiss on his forehead and the imprint of Mark’s hands on his arms. He stood like that until he could see the dusky glow of the sunset peeking through the glass and the fog cleared from his head.

He had been sad, yes, but it was a lingering ache as opposed to the gaping wound that he had been expecting. Mark had come along and stitched him together after he had fallen apart. He felt more like his old self than ever, even though there were still bad days. Mark had taught him to always look towards the future; that it would be worth it even if there was only one good day left for the rest of his life.

Still, he missed Mark and his no-nonsense attitude and sarcastic quips that were once the only highlights of his day. They still saw each other a lot, during race weekends and at the factory and Mark always gave him a big smile and told him that he would win against the others and Sebastian always believed him, even when they both knew that their chance at victory had already been compromised.

They never really told anyone that they were together but some of them like Heikki and Britta and Kimi - and Hanna - had figured it out for themselves. When Sebastian let slip to Heikki that he and Mark had broken up Heikki had looked at him with more alarm than Sebastian thought was really necessary. Britta had just smiled sadly and patted his arm but it didn’t stop her from corralling him into yet part of the paddock where he needed to be. Kimi, however, was different. He was the one Sebastian had gone to with his doubts earlier and when Sebastian told him, he looked both pained and relieved. Sebastian had never seen him so flustered.

“So…”

Kimi was fidgeting, which was something he never did. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“So. What happened?”

“We broke up?”

He knew something was wrong when Kimi didn’t even bother to roll his eyes at that.

“Okay.” And really, it was like he had lost all higher brain function. “Why?”

Sebastian paused. He and Mark never really talked about why they were breaking up; they just agreed that they should.

“Because of what I told you last time I called you.”

Kimi stared at him. “Okay.”

He knew the joke amongst the drivers that compared a conversation with Kimi with trying to talk to an uninterested brick wall, but for the first time ever he conceded that maybe it wasn’t that much of an exaggeration.

“Yeah, well, I was right about that, in the end.” He paused briefly, a small part of him wishing that he hadn’t been right but he quashed it down quickly. “But we’re still…we’ll I wouldn’t call us friends, exactly, because we don’t hang out or anything outside of work, but we’re fine. It’s all fine.”

Kimi got a dubious look on his face then and Sebastian sighed. He knew that it must look strange to the others but that was the one thing that Sebastian had been counting on when he gave Mark the option of leaving. Mark was just that kind of person. He was still friends with Ann and that was something that Sebastian couldn’t comprehend before, but he could see it now. Mark exuded an honesty that made everyone want to be around him in some way even after the connection had been broken.

“It wasn’t bad. I just…gave him the choice to leave, and he took it.” At that admission Kimi’s eyebrows started a slow climb up towards his hairline. “I mean, I had to be the one, because I knew that he would never end it, but he needed to, I mean, we needed to be apart. It was the best thing for both of us but he would never admit to it, so I had to be the one to give him the choice. I had to make him see that I would be okay without him.”

“Wow. Okay…wow. So, uh, are you okay?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “If you’re trying to ask me if I’m crying myself to sleep at night whilst hugging the t-shirt that he left behind, no. I’m fine Kimi. I’m rather selfish; I don’t think I would’ve given Mark the option if I thought that I couldn’t handle things without him.”

There was still that lingering ache in his chest and he still loved Mark dearly; Sebastian didn’t think that it would ever disappear completely. But it was time for both of them to move on. Mark deserved someone stronger, someone he loved with completely that could look after him and make him happy. And Sebastian…well, Sebastian needed to learn how to live without him, needed to prove to himself that he could, needed to mend some relationships that he let fall to the wayside.

Like Hanna. Sebastian still felt guilty for what had happened. The distance between then grew into a chasm and in the end she had cried and shouted and accused him of not trusting her, of not loving her enough, and Sebastian had stayed silent instead of telling her that it was not true.

Hanna had stormed out and Sebastian didn’t chase after her, just like how he didn’t chase after Mark. She walked away and he stayed where he was, like with Mark. If he had gone out the door on both occasions and run after them he would’ve told them both that he loved them and begged them to come back. He wanted to believe that he would’ve done the same thing both times, but he couldn’t, because he knew that he would be lying.

 

 

 

* * *

 

**  
** **Regret**

From the first time his dad had shown him how to drive a go-kart; Jenson knew that he wanted to be a racing driver. As he grew up that goal never changed but had instead evolved from just being a racing driver to being a Formula 1 driver and finally a world champion. Jenson had been retired for a year already, and he had no intention of going back. He left when his career was still high, coming third in his last year. It was a far cry from his first brush with retirement. He just missed what he had; the structure and the adrenaline and the second chances and eleventh-hour reprieves that shaped his career. He missed the inspiration and determination that drove him since he was eight years old. It had been with him for most of his life, and now it was gone.

He didn’t really have a purpose anymore, and no matter how many other former drivers told him “you’ll find something else that you’re passionate about”, he still missed it. He didn’t think he could feel the same way about triathlons. Sure, they were fun, and they passed the time, but he didn’t want to do that with the rest of his life.

He had more than enough money to ensure that even his grandkids’ grandkids wouldn’t need to work a day in their lives, although that prospect was becoming dimmer by the second. He could just work on his charity for the rest of his life and spend time with his family and friends, but he didn’t know if he could cope without having an almost-unreachable goal to strive for.

He once jokingly mentioned to Lewis that he wouldn’t know what to do if he ever retired. Instead of what other drivers would’ve said -  _you’ll find something else you’re passionate about, you should try racing in another category, or maybe commentating_  - Lewis had just agreed with him, sincerity evident in his gaze and no empty reassurances or platitudes designed to make him feel better.

He found it comforting that Lewis also didn’t know what he wanted to do after he left Formula 1, and in many ways, he knew that Lewis was still in denial over the fact that someday he would have to leave. He hadn’t spoken with Lewis about that for a while now, but he knew that was the reason why he and Fernando broke up.

Unlike Lewis, who could still hold on to that fantasy for a few more years, Jenson found himself facing the reality and without a single clue as to what to do next. So he did what he thought he should to pass the time and give him a chance to think - he raced sporadically, he competed in triathlons, and he spent more time running his foundation. He knew that at some point it would come to a head and he would have to actually face his future.

The time finally made itself known, however, when Jenson found himself standing in front of the drivers’ line up for 2018 and he realised just how many of his old friends and acquaintances were actually left. Lewis was still there, but his smile was strained and Jenson knew that he was absolutely miserable despite the brave face he was putting on. Sebastian was still there too. The only other one he was close to was Nico, who looked stunning sitting front and centre in his McLaren gear, himself one of the older drivers now. Afterwards, Nico told him that it felt natural to him to be wearing white race suits and that was why he didn’t take the Ferrari offer, and Jenson laughed with him and told him that red definitely didn’t suit his delicate complexion.

Red certainly suited Sergio though, who signed on to the team the year after Jenson left. They never were particularly close, even after a couple of years together. It wasn’t anything either of them could do, Jenson thought; they were both at different parts of their lives and their careers. Jenson had already made it to the end, whereas Sergio was still hunting for that elusive first championship. He came close last year, and Jenson knew that it would only be a matter of time before he got there.

As for the new drivers, he didn’t really feel anything towards them. He was heartened to see that one of the rookies was a girl, barely out of high school and with a cheeky grin which Jenson knew meant that she wouldn’t be taking any nonsense from the others.

He met Michael in the hotel bar that night. It wasn’t unusual to see former drivers at races, but it was rare to see Michael at one. Michael confided to him that he felt exactly the same way after he retired and realised that the rest of the drivers he raced against were replaced with strangers half their age. He spent three years wondering what to do, and eventually decided that he wanted to go back to the world that he thought he had left behind.

“Was it worth it? Coming back and trying again for a second time?”

Michael was silent for a while, as if weighing the different sides up in his mind.

“It was different, certainly. It wasn’t better, but I think I was happier second time around.”

Jenson almost wanted to ask him how much of that happiness was due to Nico, but he knew he shouldn’t pry. Instead he asked “Why do you think you were happier?”

“Well, not at first. We were all rather disappointed that first year, but after I accepted the fact that I wasn’t going to see the same success as I had before, my expectations and the pressure that I put on myself just disappeared. It wasn’t a good comeback, but I definitely enjoyed driving a lot more. It no longer felt like a chore. Nico was a lot better than me too, and it felt nice, not having to fight with my teammate.”

A strange, melancholic expression came over his face then, and Jenson had to look away from how raw and open Michael appeared. “But, there is one thing I do regret about my comeback.” Michael inhaled deeply as if preparing himself.

“I made a huge mistake -”

\---

_A lot of the current drivers here, they grew up watching you race, watching you win, and now they’re embarking on their own careers, chasing the same success that you saw, hoping to win. What advice would you give them; what would you have liked to know when you were in their place?_

Michael sighed as he made his way down the stairs. Thankfully, that was his only official commitment over the weekend. His interviewing skills were getting rusty, and although he could daydream his way through most interviews without giving much thought to his answers, there were still some questions that made him stop and think, mostly the ones about new drivers and how the sport was changing and the “new era of Formula 1”. He hated those questions.

He headed for the exit of the hospitality centre, intending to slip out and head back to his hotel room for the rest of the day. It was still only Thursday and there was no real reason for him to hang out at the track for the day.

He was about to leave when something caught his eye. Nico was sitting in the corner, hunched over something and back to the rest of the world. Michael didn’t want to disturb him, but it seemed like the part of him that still craved Nico’s touch and attention and affection couldn’t be stifled any longer.

“Hey.” The word slipped out without him realising.

The moment the words left his mouth he wished he hadn’t said anything, because he could see Nico’s shoulders tensing. He didn’t want to make it uncomfortable for Nico because he still had a race to focus on, but it looked like it was too late.

Nico glanced over his shoulder. “Hi Michael,” he said, almost too nonchalantly, “what are you doing here?”

Michael figured that if he had already made it uncomfortable, then he might as well go the whole way. He pulled out the chair next to Nico and sat down, trying to seem casual about it.

“Ah, well, I just had a joint interview with Mika upstairs and it was really good and we finished and I was headed out but then I saw you and I wanted to know how you’re doing because it’s been a while and I just wanted to ask how you’re feeling about the competition this year and what you think will happen and the new rule changes and -“

He stopped himself. It all just came out without him wanting to. He thought back to what he said; it wasn’t that bad, individually, but when put altogether it made him sound like a crazy person.

He glanced over to his side. Nico was struggling not to smile, even though his head has still bent over the print outs on the table. He tipped his head even further down, as if to hide his grin. Michael took that as an encouraging sign.

He started again. “So um, how’ve you been?”

Nico looked up then. “Good.” He paused, and then cleared his throat. “Yeah, good. I mean, the competition’s going to be really tight this year, but my season’s been good so far and the upgrades that we’ve been getting on the car have been really amazing. I think we’re going to do really well this year.”

“Good. That’s good to hear.”

Nico smiled at him briefly before lowering his head to look at the printouts once more. Michael didn’t know if it was Nico’s way of telling him that he didn’t want to talk to him.

It was now or nothing, he supposed. Honesty, Jenson had told him, looking surprisingly serious, or as serious as someone could look when they’ve just chugged down two martinis and was starting to seriously regret their decision.

“Nico -” Michael stopped, unsure of what he was going to say, just knowing that he had to tell Nico about, well, about everything; things that he should’ve told Nico about when they were still together, because they were…important things. He wasn’t the type to broadcast his feelings, even to those for whom he felt great affection, but this was different. He had to make Nico see that he was sorry about how they had ended their relationship. He had to make Nico see that he did think of it as a relationship, a proper one, and not something that he needed to hide away. He needed Nico to understand, to give him another chance.

It didn’t seem likely though. Michael didn’t really expect him to say yes, because Nico didn’t seem to be missing Michael as much as Michael had missed him. But he had to at least let Nico know that he was important to him, that Michael treasured their time together, that he was sorry for how it started and how it continued and especially how it ended but not for how it made him feel.

Even if Nico told him that it was too late, he still needed to tell him, because he never got around to telling him at the time when it mattered most, when it might have made a difference in how they turned out.

He cleared his throat, glad that Nico was still stubbornly looking down because he knew that if Nico was looking at him then he wouldn’t be able to get the words out.

“I wanted to ask if…maybe…I mean -” Michael stopped again and tried to get his pounding heart under control before continuing. “I was wondering if you would like to join me for dinner tonight.”

He held his breath as Nico slowly looked up at him, confusing and - yes, doubt - in his eyes. It hurt Michael to know that he had put that there.

Nico was silent for a while; Michael wasn’t sure if it was ten seconds or ten minutes. He could barely hear above the rush of blood in his ears. He was just starting to really panic when Nico spoke.

“Yes.”

It was soft, hesitant, and Michael could sense how much Nico was putting on the line for him. He could feel his heart breaking for Nico as he cursed himself for the umpteenth time. But - Nico was smiling, albeit a cautious smile and he didn’t flinch away when Michael put his hand on his arm and squeezed slightly as he nodded.

“Okay.”

_“Okay, well, I don’t really know. I think when I was that age I wanted to win at all costs. And now, I don’t know if that was the best thing to do. There are things that I’ve done in the past that I wish I could take back. Some things I can, but some things I’m too late. I guess what I’m trying to say is that, you should always make sure that whatever you decide; you can live with yourself when it’s over. That’s probably the most important thing.”_

\---

It was a mistake. That was how these things usually happened. A rather pleasant mistake, but still one nonetheless. They were both lonely and drunk, and they ended up falling into each other’s arms even though he knew that Sebastian hadn’t been looking for a relationship, even a physical one, until he had sorted himself out more.

Regardless, he woke up next to the man on a massive bed and only a faint pounding in his head to let him know how he managed to get himself into that situation. He swore to never drink again, knowing that it was a futile gesture and that he would be drinking again that night, and not just because it was Christmas.

The floorboards were cold against his bare feet, and he reached under the bed to where Sebastian had kicked his slippers. Two little koalas stared up at him, worn and threadbare. Sighing, he slipped out of his room and closed the door, careful not to wake Sebastian.

The rest of the house felt even colder. The chill seeped through the walls and floors and bathed the whole place in a heavy blanket of gloom. He made his way to the fireplace, noting that Sebastian was running down on logs and needed to pick some more up later.

It didn’t take him long to get the fire going and to check the thermostat. The weather had been getting unseasonably warm for late January and everyone had been getting complacent, thinking that the worst of the cold was behind them already.

The kitchen was slightly better than the rest of the house and Kimi popped two pieces of bread in the toaster before starting up the coffee machine. Maybe he should make some eggs as well. Technically Sebastian hadn’t started training for the upcoming season yet and would probably want some actual food before training did start and Sebastian was back in Heikki’s clutches. Kimi chuckled to himself. That man - he could just look at Sebastian and probably scare the excess fat off of him. So mild, and yet so stern.

“Kimi?”

Kimi turned as Sebastian padded into the kitchen, hugging himself and shivering slightly.

“It’s freezing! What happened?”

“It’s gone back to normal.” Kimi snorted and went back to contemplating what the fridge may yield in terms of breakfast options. It was better than looking at an adorably confused and rumpled Sebastian. He just hoped that when Sebastian woke up a bit more that it wouldn’t be too awkward. They had both been a bit drunk the night before, but Kimi was certainly handled his liquor better than Sebastian had and he didn’t know if Sebastian remembered everything that happened. If Sebastian didn’t remember, or wanted to pretend that he didn’t remember, Kimi wouldn’t blame him.

He heard Sebastian sigh from behind him - unusually close behind - which was the only warning that he got before he felt arms wrap themselves tightly around his chest and Sebastian plaster himself to his back, tiny puffs of his breath warm on the nape of Kimi’s neck.

Kimi froze.

“It’s not fair. Why can’t it be warm already? He mumbled, before rubbing his face into Kimi’s neck, as if trying to burrow into him. “Why did you leave me in bed? I was cold.” He sounded petulant and accusing, and Kimi could almost sense the pout that Sebastian was undoubtedly sporting.

He still didn’t know if anything was supposed to be different between them. Sebastian was a fairly physically affectionate guy with everyone, and maybe what was happening wasn’t that weird.

“Seb, I’m trying to cook breakfast.” Kimi hoped that his voice was calm.

“But you can’t cook!”

“I can cook, I just choose not to.”

If anything, Sebastian’s arms seemed to tighten. “Why don’t you ever cook for me then? I want to eat your food. What can you cook?”

“I’m trying to cook or you now,” he paused, “but it’s kind of hard when I can’t move.”

Sebastian let out a small huff and relaxed his grip. “Okay, fine. I’ll let you go for now so you can cook, but you’re not escaping later.” And with that Kimi felt Sebastian’s lips on the junction as the base of his neck, soft and warm and gone way too soon. “I’m getting some hot chocolate.”

With that he released Kimi and turned to kill up the kettle. Kimi was still rooted in place as he tried to comprehend just what was happening. It didn’t seem like Sebastian was panicking, or if he was then it was going to be a severely delayed reaction.

Whatever was happening, the best thing to do would be to just go along with it and hope that all would make sense later. He opened the fridge door and took in its contents, his mind not really focused on the task so he actually scanned the whole thing three times before he managed to locate the eggs. Sebastian had mushrooms and peppers and Kimi decided that he would make some omelettes. It would take longer and therefore give him more time to process everything.

He grabbed what he needed and nudged the door shut with his elbow. When he turned around, Sebastian was perched on the bar stool on the other side of the island, gaze fixed on him, steady and unwavering.

“Kimi.”

Kimi swallowed and averted his gaze, busying himself with placing everything on the counter before he dropped something.

“Yeah?” he asked, without looking up. This time he knew that he sounded nervous.

Sebastian didn’t reply straightaway, and there was silence for a while. He was so unused to it, and he had to fight to urge to look at Sebastian.

Finally, Sebastian said “Kimi, come here” in a small voice.

Kimi shuffled over to the other side, still without meeting his gaze, and Sebastian twisted so that they faced each other. Kimi didn’t know how close he was supposed to get.

“Kimi.”

Sebastian reached for Kimi’s arm to tug him forward. Kimi let himself be pulled until he was standing between Sebastian’s legs with Sebastian looking up at him and smiling.

“Good morning.” Sebastian said as he leant up to kiss Kimi’s lips, a long, slow kiss, deliberate and unmistakable in its intent. Sebastian pulled back a while later and smiled at Kimi again before leaning forward to wrap his arms around him again, this time burrowing his face into Kimi’s chest and sighing.

“It’s way too cold. Before you make breakfast you have to help me drag all the blankets and pillows to the fireplace so I can be in there while you cook.” Kimi could sense another pout coming on. “It’s non-negotiable, so you have to come help me first.”

Kimi laughed and wound his arms around Sebastian’s shoulders, kissing the top of his head.

\---

Nico Rosberg knew what it felt like to be a winner. He’s stood on the top step of the podium, higher than all his rivals, revelling in their failure and the adoration of the crowd. It certainly was different after his first win. His second one came easier, and then his third, and before he could comprehend it, he had won the championship. He was a world champion, just like Michael.

And Michael…Nico had Michael. Finally. After years of hesitation and waiting and confusion, Nico finally had Michael. For a while, the best thing that he could hope for was to be in Michael’s presence and for it to not be awkward. What had happened, however, was more than he had ever imagined. It was just like in one of his dreams, the ones that left him feeling guilty and ashamed in the morning for wanting something that he shouldn’t have.  It fed the yearning and he ache in his chest and Nico didn’t know when it had become something that he could have. He didn’t know when Michael had changed his mind, whether it was during their time together or after he left. It didn’t matter anymore anyway, because he had Michael. Finally.

Nico grinned as he caught sight of Michael in the back corner, having trapped a rather new and relatively inexperienced engineer into a conversation with him. Michael talked animatedly whilst the engineer - Adam, perhaps - stared at him with a star struck, barely concealed panic on his face.

He turned back to the printout Sam had handed him of the previous day’s data, eyes skimming the numbers but mind still on the man in the corner. He shook his head and refocused on the page. It wouldn’t do him well to lose concentration. It was going to be his year - again - and he had to focus. He was close, but so was Perez and Hulkenberg, and he knew that a moment’s inattention could see the championship go to either of those two.

He willed himself to focus on the data and was victorious, momentarily, until he felt Michael’s hand on his arm.

“Come on.” Michael’s voice was low and close to his ear. Nico could feel Michael’s breath on the base of his neck and he found himself stifling a shiver that threatened to run through the rest of his body.

“Michael,” he admonished, trying to sound put out, “I’m busy.”

“Hmm, no you’re not. That’s the same thing you were looking at yesterday afternoon. It’s not my fault if it hasn’t sunk in yet.”

Michael tugged at his arm and Nico sighed and let himself be led out of the garage and into their private motor home parked not too far away, past a group of girls whose hands automatically went to their mouths as they went by. Nico could almost just hear them going “aww” as they passed. Michael nudged Nico inside before elbowing the door shut and locking it, not that it was needed. Their relationship…he couldn’t even call it an open secret, not when everyone knew about them after Michael had announced on live television that they were together.

Nico didn’t think that his face would ever stop flaming. He didn’t think that when Michael said things would be different that he meant outing them both to the entire world. After the initial shock had worn off, the support was actually rather unprecedented and unexpected. Times were changing, it seemed. Gay sports people were nothing new, although gay former teammates in a relationship was, but it wasn’t something that people couldn’t get over.

The worst thing about it was actually whenever Corinna was brought up. Nico would still feel the guilt rise up in him, and he couldn’t even imagine what Michael would be thinking in those moments when people speculated about whether Nico was the reason for their divorce. He hated thinking about it, because a part of him knew that it was true, that Michael and Corinna had separated because of him.

Michael told him differently though. He would say that they grew apart and that he was re-evaluating his life and what he wanted to do - and what he wanted to undo - because he knew that there were things that he had to change and apologise for but Nico knew that Michael never told him the whole truth. It didn’t matter though, because they were together, and they were happy.

There were still times when Nico woke up thinking that everything that happened was some kind of wonderful dream, that he had imagined it all and he was alone in his too-large and too-empty house. He would be in his bed, alone, in a place that should be home but actually felt like one of those display houses with the tasteful but impersonal furniture and nothing to suggest that a person actually lived there and wanted to be there.

It would last until Michael inevitably draped his arm around Nico and tugged him closer whilst murmuring into his hair. Nico realised that he probably woke up whenever he was out from under Michael’s grasp and Michael probably knew unconsciously whenever he was out of reach.

Nico laughed as Michael spun him around to kiss him, hard and demanding at first but then quickly softening into slow and sweet pecks. Nico clung onto the collar of Michael’s shirt and smiled into the kisses, knowing that they wouldn’t go any further than that, no matter how much they both wanted to, until the race was over and they had the rest of the day to themselves.

Michael pulled back and rested their foreheads against each other.

“I love you,” he whispered, and Nico felt his heart speed up until it seemed like it was going to burst out of his chest. Michael had said it to him countless times already. He never thought that they would become one of those couples who told each other that they loved them every day but he was proven wrong. Michael would tell him every day, often several times a day, and although Nico feared that it would become trite and meaningless between them, it never did. His heart always sped up when Michael said it to him, and he knew that every single time Michael said it he meant it. It felt like he was falling in love every single time.

“I love you too.” Nico leaned in to kiss Michael again, just once, before he dropped his head onto Michael’s shoulder and rested his lips on the side of his neck. Michael’s arms went around him and held on and Nico tried to take in his last moment of peace before the race and the inevitable clusterfuck of activity that came with that.

“You’re going to be fine, Nico. You’re going to win, I know it.” Michael’s hand came up to tangle in his hair and Nico felt himself relax even more into the embrace. He didn’t know what was going to happen in the race, given how unpredictable the season had been, given the new rule changes. 

If he won, he would be world champion again. He could have a relaxing final race the following week because he wouldn’t need to worry about it anymore. If he didn’t then it would drag on and the next week was going to be unbearable. It was bad enough his first time around, when he ended up calling his dad every night for hours on end to ramble about things, most of the time not even related to racing. His dad was still as unfazed as ever, but Nico would like to not have to go through that all over again.

Although he usually thought about the million little things that could go wrong, he felt calmer when Michael held him. In his mind he could see himself winning, and he could see himself standing on the top step of the podium, higher than everyone. He could see Michael and his dad in the crowd below, pride and happiness shining on their faces.

It was going to happen.

“You’re going to win, Nico. You’re going to fly past everyone else.”

Nico laughed, muffled by Michael’s shoulder. “What if I fly too far, or too high?”

Michael’s hand slowed its caressing of his hair, and although Nico meant it as a joke he knew that Michael was seriously considering the question.

“Then I’ll get you and bring you back,” he replied, turning to press kisses to the top of Nico’s head. “And if I don’t, then I’ll catch you if you fall.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

**  
** **Gravity**

Tragedy at Abu Dhabi

_By Natalia A. Kane_

_Sunday, 11 November 2018, 19:48_

 

The life of a racing driver has always been full of risk, but it has also always been accepted as something that came with the job. To be a racing driver is to accept that death is that much closer, yet it has never deterred those who are truly passionate about this sport and have never doubted the role that they would play.

Although there have been many fatalities over the years both on and off track, the introduction of stricter safety regulations after the dark weekend of 1994 has meant that no driver has died whilst racing since then.

Until today.

 

 

 

* * *

 

  
****Zephyr**  **

It was late. The restaurant was a quiet hub of activity; team members who had not yet adjusted to the time shift huddled around tables and staring at each other blankly as they tried to unwind from the day. It was a look that Sebastian knew all too well. It was the one that never really faded from everyone’s faces after the events of the last season. Unexpected was probably the wrong word for it. None of the events could really be said to be unexpected, but knowing about it and anticipating it made things so much worse. It made everyone think that they could change things, could maybe stop things from happening.

Abu Dhabi was a sombre affair. The entire paddock, personnel and fans alike, were walking around in a daze, going through the motions. He had seen more than a few people crying over the course of the weekend, and the minute of silence before the singing of the national anthem did not lend itself to any welcome and long needed cathartic release.

Everyone couldn’t wait for season to end, and although Sergio was the one to lift the trophy above his head to seal his first championship, the smiles were strained and the celebrations short. Everyone wanted to leave.

The winter break was a welcome reprieve, but before too long they were back in the factories working on the new cars, and now they were in Melbourne again, although none of them were quite in the mood.

Melbourne, at least, remained unchanged. The weather was still as unpredictable as ever; rainy mornings giving way to sunny afternoons and vice versa. The forecast for the upcoming weekend was particularly grim, and already Sebastian could hear the beginnings of the rain that was due to accompany them through the night.

Michael sat in front of him, eyes lowered as he fidgeted with the tablecloth. He looked lost. Beside him sat Jenson, tapping his fingers against the table and glancing at the door, waiting for Kimi, perhaps, because they needed something to break the overcast of mourning in the room. He could feel it permeating the air, clinging hard to clothes and shoes and skin, so that even those who didn’t know about what had happened were nevertheless affected by the overwhelming feeling that something was wrong.

Sebastian knew that he should be feeling it too; should be broadcasting the same aura, but he wasn’t. He didn’t think that it meant he was heartless, or a bad person - he had felt the loss as acutely as anyone else, he just believed that it was inevitable.

Perhaps, he thought, that was why things were different. He didn’t cling onto false hope like other people and he didn’t think that things would be back to the way they were. But he didn’t think that things were hopeless, not like he did before. It was just the way things would be from then on. Nothing could be changed, because how could you take back the knowledge once it had burrowed itself deep into your mind and lodged itself there, unmoving and permanent? There was no point. The only thing they could do was move on with their lives.

Sebastian’s attention snapped back to the others and he followed Jenson’s gaze as he waved his hand. Kimi was at the door, glancing around briefly before he spotted them and made his way over, and behind him -

Behind him stood Mark, looking more than a little hesitant as Kimi tilted his head towards their table.

It was…god, it had been ages. It was the first time Sebastian had seen Mark since they had broken up. They had parted on good terms, but it wasn’t like either of them was that eager to seek the other out. Because, well, because they couldn’t. Sebastian knew that if was the right choice, but it was still painful. And Kimi, well Kimi knew about their relationship, perhaps the only other person who knew about their relationship, though Sebastian didn’t know who Mark might have told.

As they neared, Sebastian could see the strain on Mark’s face. It wasn’t anything obvious to others but Sebastian had spent countless sleepless nights and early mornings studying that face and knew the look well.

“Hey, sorry we’re late.” Sebastian shifted in the booth so that Kimi could slide in next to him, leaving Mark the seat on the end. He grabbed Kimi’s hand under the table and felt Kimi squeeze his fingers reassuringly.

“Mark, hey, when did you get in?” Jenson asked. Thankfully, Sebastian thought. He didn’t know what he would do if he had met Mark’s eyes.

“A few hours ago. My flight was delayed. With how long I ended up waiting I should’ve just driven. Would’ve been a lot easier.” The others all managed a smile at that, even Michael. Sebastian didn’t know how to react.

The waitress came to take their order, although it was all a bit of a blur to Sebastian. Thankfully Kimi knew what he usually ate and ordered for him, because he didn’t trust himself to be able to speak. He couldn’t even follow the conversation that was going on through the rush of blood in his head. It was only until Kimi nudged him with his knee that he realised that they were all looking at him expectantly.

“Ah…what? Sorry, I was miles away.” He angled his body slightly to the right and looked at Jenson and Michael. It was the safer option.

Jenson grinned at him. “Mind on the race, huh? Well, I was just asking, what do you think about the rookies this year? Think any of them will turn out to be as annoying as you?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, thankful that Jenson was there to break to keep them from difficult topics. “As if any of them will be as awesome as I was,” he started, carefully not taking his eyes of Jenson and focussing on the warmth of Kimi’s knee resting against his. “Annoying you was a special skill that I cultivated over years, Jenson.  _Years_. None of the rookies have the talent for that.”

Jenson threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s impossible for anyone else to be as annoying as you were.”

“Oh, Sebastian was like that even when he was a boy.” Michael said, finally, a smile playing on his face. “He was seven years old and convinced that he would become world champion one day.”

“Yeah, his ego’s even bigger than yours.” Kimi said, looking at a nodding Michael.

“Hey!” Sebastian protested as the others grinned at him. “You’re all just jealous that you’re not as awesome as me.”

Jenson started to recount an incident from their early years, his hands gesturing animatedly and soon they were all reminiscing and laughing about the crazy things that happened years before. Mark and Sebastian never spoke to each other directly. They didn’t even look at each other. If Jenson and Michael noticed, they didn’t say anything.

\---

Seven months.

Michael couldn’t help thinking that maybe, maybe if he weren’t so stubborn and in denial and had never let Nico go the first time then they would’ve had years together. Instead, they only had seven months together before Nico was gone.

He had been in the McLaren garage at the time watching the race with Keke, cheering Nico on as he passed Hulkenberg, and then -

A corner.

A bit of contact.

A result that made Mark’s flight at Valencia seem like he was going over a small speed bump.

It was hard to watch, but none of them really knew what had happened until afterwards. It had been quick, too quick for any of them to comprehend it properly and react. But once it did, the images never left Michael’s mind. The flip. The crash. The fire.

He was plagued by nightmares the following week, waking him in the middle of the night and sending him into a panic when he realised that Nico wasn’t next to him on the bed. He didn’t sleep for four days after that, not wanting to see the same images playing in his head and knowing that he couldn’t do anything to change things.

He lasted until Cora took one look at him and ordered him to bed. By that time he was so exhausted that he didn’t dream of anything. He woke up hours later to a clean house and dinner waiting for him in the oven. Cora’s note had been short, telling him to get some rest and that she would be back in a couple of days. He spent the majority of his time since then engulfed in work. When he was busy it stopped him from thinking about the accident when he was awake. Running a business was hard, and it was the only thing that got him exhausted enough at the end of the day so that he could just collapse onto the bed without worrying that he would dream about Nico again that night.

He glanced down at the bouquet in his hand. He didn’t even know what kind of flowers they were, but they were the same golden shade of Nico’s hair. His driver kept glancing in his mirror to look at him, as if wanting to say something. Michael didn’t blame the man; a lot of people had said a lot of things since the accident.

Most of them wanted to speak to him but they were stopped either by Cora, who had appointed herself the task of scaring away any reporters, a task which she was scarily proficient at, and other drivers or ex-drivers, his old rivals. Michael hadn’t even spoken with some of them for years, but they all called him up and refused to comment on Michael and Nico’s relationship when questioned.

It was humbling, to be at the centre of so many other people’s concern. He didn’t know how to repay them. It would just be one more thing in the long line of things that he wished was different, just one more added to his unending list of regrets.

He never got to tell his brother how much he meant to him. He never got to make things right with Corinna. He never really apologised to all the people that he should’ve apologised to. Things got better with time, but he still never took that final step. Shifting in his seat, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He had to start somewhere, but later, after he saw Nico.

The taxi pulled to a stop and Michael paid the driver before reaching for the door.

“Do you want me to wait for you, sir?”

Michael’s hand hesitated on the handle. It had been a year already, and Michael didn’t know how long he would take.

“No, it’s alright. Thank you.” He stepped out the car and the driver gave him a wave of his hand before driving off.

The circuit was closed for the day. No events were being run and preparations for the Grand Prix the following weekend ground to a halt. One of the guards offered to drive him but he declined, needing the walk there to clear his head.

He went past the main grandstands and pit buildings, tracing the path that Nico would’ve taken that day, imagining what Nico must’ve thought about in his last moments, until he reached the point on the long straight where it happened and where Nico’s car had landed and skidded until it was stopped by the barrier.

There was a small, black plaque fixed onto the ground where the car had ended up. Michael stepped up and set the flowers down on the side of it. He laid back and stretched himself alongside it, face towards the harsh glare of the Abu Dhabi sun, no caring that his suit was getting dirty.

He couldn’t go to the graveyard that day, where Nico was buried underneath a marker that read his name and the dates, along with a few lines about his life. There would be hundreds, thousands of people there in the days leading up to the date, and Michael didn’t want to be among them. It may be where Nico was buried, but it wasn’t where he died.

Nico took his last breath there on the track, where the world looked on as his soul departed his body and he left them behind.

Michael sighed and sat up, resting his hand on the words written on the plaque.

_Farewell Nico._

They had asked him what to engrave on the plaque, but he didn’t know what to say. In the end Nico’s parents went for something simple. He was glad that they hadn’t asked him to make the final decision, because everything he said would’ve felt like a lie. He stopped talking to Nico in his head that day, stopped making impossible promises that he could never hope to keep, like he did when Nico was still alive.

He couldn’t tell anyone about the last words that he had spoken to Nico, still seared into his mind.

_“I’ll catch you if you fall.”_

\---

Kimi wandered around the living room, unable to get his mind to settle. Sebastian was upstairs in bed, where Kimi should be as well, at that time of night. Kimi couldn’t sleep; he couldn’t stop thinking about Sebastian and their relationship and where it was all going - where he wanted it to go, really, because it was all in his hands now. Sebastian had said that he was happy, but Kimi knew differently. Not that Sebastian was dissatisfied or anything, just that Sebastian hadn’t realised that he could have something different. He had…resigned himself to being with Kimi, for lack of a better word. He had settled. He had done with Kimi what he had convinced himself that Mark had done with him.

Kimi, well he couldn’t let that happen. Not because he wasn’t a catch - he knew he was awesome, and Sebastian knew he was awesome, but he also knew that Sebastian thought Mark was just that bit more awesome, even if he couldn’t admit it to himself that he still thought that way.

Sebastian and Mark, they just made sense, somehow. Kimi remembered how much Mark occupied Sebastian’s mind, even before they were together, in the early days of their partnership, when Sebastian had still been flush from success at Toro Rosso and eager to impress Mark. He still remembered how Sebastian used to look at Mark, even when they were having problems, when they went weeks without talking to each other.

Sebastian needed the push from Kimi; otherwise he was going to stay out of some misguided sense of duty or something. But Kimi wasn’t unselfish enough to actually do it straightaway. Plus, he didn’t want Sebastian to think that he wasn’t wanted - god knows that couldn’t be further from the truth - and he didn’t want to ruin their friendship. What they had was good, and he could go back to what they were.

Sure, he would miss their current relationship, but there was always something missing, no matter how great it was. Kimi wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew that there was still a Mark-shaped hole in Sebastian’s heart that he could never hope to fill. The edges might no longer be ragged and it might have gotten smaller, but it was still there, and it would always be there. And from his conversation with Mark, Sebastian wasn’t the only one feeling that way.

He understood why they had broken up - they needed their space, both of them. It was the right decision at the time, but both of them seemed to be under the Impression that it was a decision from which they could not return, and it was frustrating, to say the least. They were both trying to be selfless because they thought the other was better off.

Kimi didn’t want to be the reason why. He wanted Sebastian to be happy, even if it wasn’t with him, hence the sleepless nights. Sebastian had noticed that something was up, as Kimi loved to sleep and usually couldn’t be dragged out of bed before noon on a day off, but he hadn’t asked why, which Kimi was thankful for. He didn’t know how he would broach the subject.

Sighing, he flicked off the lights and climbed the stairs, hoping to get at least a few hours of sleep before he had to wake up and go through the same thought processes all over again. He slowed as the neared the bedroom. He could see light coming from underneath the door.

He pushed it open. In the dim glow of bedside lamp, Kimi could see Sebastian glance up from his cross-legged position on top of the bedspread. Kimi could see from Sebastian’s expression that the talk was going to happen earlier than he expected.

Oh well, he supposed, no time like the present.

Kimi walked over and sat on the side of the bed, his body twisting to face Sebastian, who came closer and leaned into his side.

“I’m sorry.” Sebastian’s voice was muffled against Kimi’s shoulder. Kimi tried to shake his head, but he didn’t want to dislodge Sebastian.

“I’m sorry too.” His arms came up around Sebastian, even though the position was awkward and his leg ended up pinned underneath him. Sebastian seemed to realise their strange position as he gave a short laugh and shifted so that he was also sitting on the side, allowing him to burrow his face into Kimi’s chest and hold him close around his waist.

“You’ll always be my best friend, no matter what.”

Kimi laughed as he clutched Sebastian closer, his chest aching and feeling like it was going to burst. “You better not replace me.”

Kimi moved so that he was lying down and Sebastian shifted to lay half on top of him, their legs tangled together and Sebastian’s head rising and falling on Kimi’s chest. Kimi tangled one hand in Sebastian’s hair and held onto his waist with the other, feeling his breath warm across his skin.

They stayed like that until the first rays of the sun peeked through the curtains and Kimi was hit with a bone-deep, weary exhaustion that came from too many sleepless nights and the final cathartic realisation just a few hours before. Sebastian got up then, too quick for Kimi to realise and try to hold him back. He strode over to the window and tugged the curtains closed so that no light would pass through them into the bedroom. He turned and went back to the bed, prodding Kimi until he shifted to the side, then pulling back the covers from under him and crawling in. Kimi canted his hips up as he kicked off his jeans and wriggled until he was also under the covers, pressing closer to Sebastian and sliding his fingers back into Sebastian’s hair.

They stayed like that, and Kimi fell asleep, comforted by the solid weight of Sebastian in his arms and lulled by the soft, warm puffs of breath across his collarbone.

\---

“Lewis! Hey Lewis!”

Jenson chased after the man in front, hoping to catch up before he got whisked away by a reporter. They were hard to avoid, and normally J didn’t mind speaking to with them about how his team was now doing and how the new drivers were performing, but Jenson hadn’t spoken with Lewis properly for a number of months, and he wanted to see how the younger man was doing. He knew what Lewis was doing - he was often getting interviewed about DTM - and he knew who he was doing, but J still worried from time to time about how Lewis was holding up, whether or not he still suffered from that crushing guilt or if the years had made it bearable.

Jenson quickened his steps and called again. This time Lewis turned back, and when he saw who it was, a smile broke out on his face.

“Hey man, still chasing after me, I see?”

“Ha, yeah, not much has changed.” Jenson paused to catch his breath, his hand resting on Lewis’s shoulder. “Are you busy? Need to impart your insight anywhere?”

“Just got out of one.” He glanced around, eyes lighting on the McLaren hospitality centre not too far away. “Tea?”

Jenson grinned. “Always.”

The walk there was pleasant, Jenson thought, weaving through the matrix of floating walkways that made up the complex. An older Thai couple waved cheerfully, and a group of chattering, excited students passed them by, exclaiming at the new facilities, reading the information screens that dotted the paths.

The McLaren lodge was at the far end of the walkway, it’s view of the track and the surrounding bay unhindered by any competing structures, its walls a matte white to deflect the light, the entrance a constant hive of activity as team members hurried to and fro, talking and laughing with each other as they went about their duties.

Jenson spotted people that he knew, ones that were still there when he retired, and he greeted them as they passed. There were others that he didn’t know, though they obviously recognised him and Lewis, and Jenson waved whenever one of them caught his eye.

The inside of the lodge was colourful - or as colourful as it could be without disrupting the flow of white, red and black that covered everything.

Lewis headed straight for the tea-making facilities and Jenson watched him spoon four heaps of sugar into one cup. He laughed to himself and snatched two vanilla slices from the counter, along with a small bowl of grapes and another one of M&Ms. He sat down at a table by the open window and where Lewis had settled.

“So,” he started, taking a sip of his tea, “how’ve you been?” It had been - god, it had been months since they caught up. How had that happened? And why did he let it go on for so long?

Lewis shrugged as he grabbed a handful of the chocolate. “It’s been...the same, I guess. But also, completely different...if you get what I mean.”

Jenson did know what he meant. Things had changed, but looking back on them, they weren’t as...dramatic as they once were at the time. That was just a fact of life, he supposed, everything dimmed with hindsight.

“Fernando and I are good. Got our hands full though. Marco’s doing well, although he seems to have picked up Fernando’s habit of trying to psych out his opponents with quotes from The Art of War.”

Jenson laughed and nodded his head. “Yeah, I remember that. It was hilarious.”

“So how are you and Jessica?”

“We’re great. She, well we were going to wait a bit before telling everyone, but it’s you.” Jenson paused for dramatic effect, although he realised that Lewis probably already had an idea of what he was going to say. “She’s pregnant! I’m gonna be a dad!”

“Hey, congrats!” Lewis reached over to thump him on his arm. “That’s great! Hopefully the kid will look like her and we won’t see any of your ugly mug.”

“Oi,” Jenson said, with mock affront, “I am offended that you don’t think that I am amazingly handsome.”

Lewis laughed. “Yeah, true, you were the one with the pretty face.”

They grinned at each other, and Jenson was thankful that even then, even after everything that had happened, he could still laugh with Lewis. Things had seemed bleak for a while back then, but they had pulled through.

“It’s kind of strange, you know, us retiring and getting married and having kids.” Lewis said, after the laughter had died down. “I guess, I never really thought about what I would do once I stopped racing. It just always seemed impossible that I would ever stop. But here I am, I stopped and it was my choice, and...” he trailed off, looking down at his cup, “and it was the right choice.”

Jenson smiled. “Yeah, it was the right choice. We’re good. We did good. It could’ve been a lot worse.”

“Hmm.” Lewis nodded in agreement. They were silent for a moment; Jenson contemplating the choices that he had made, the wrong turns and dead ends. It all turned out well, it led him back to Jessica, but along the way...

“Have you heard from Michael lately?” He asked, suddenly curious about the other man. Nico had left him so soon after his brother, and Jenson had been worried about him. He had called a few times, and Michael always said that he was fine, but Jenson could tell.

“Uh, yeah, I saw him a few weeks ago in Melbourne. He was doing okay, or as okay as you could expect. His kids were with him, so I think that helped.” Lewis gave him a small smile. “Michael was never one to dwell on things and let them eat him up. It’ll take a while, but...he’ll be okay.”

Jenson nodded, making a mental note to call Michael when he had a chance.

“So,” he started, hoping to get back onto happier thoughts, “are you going out with Kimi tonight?”

Lewis groaned.

 Jenson threw his head back and laughed. “So, I take it that’s a no then? You being all responsible now that you’re a parent?”

“Dude, last time I went out with Kimi I woke up wearing a neon bikini, trapped in a hammock.”

“I remember that! Sebastian sent me photos. It was completely your fault - you keep saying that you’ll never go out with him again and you last until the next time that he asks you! I have no sympathy for you whatsoever.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Lewis grinned and shrugged. “I’m weak against all that Finnish charm. Being teammates with Heikki really wore me down.”

“Well, I’m glad that Kimi’s doing okay, after what happened with Sebastian. Must’ve been tough, and you can never tell what’s he’s really thinking.”

Lewis looked confused.

“What happened with Sebastian?”

 

 

 

* * *

 

**Tuesday**

The world turned, and life went on as it always did. It found a way through the cracks in the pavement to reach towards the sun, triumphant in its exultation. What was once a blight on the human psyche became just another fact of life; an old scar rather than a festering wound. From birth, children knew of their deaths, but it became just another part of themselves, just another characteristic they could not control, albeit one that emerged from the chaos and coincidence of nature rather than their parents.

The world turned, and people kept on living. Sebastian kept on living. Just like how Mark told him, all those years ago; one day at a time. Except he had Mark by his side, helping him live day by day, and upon the southern Argentinean shoreline one summer’s dawn, where both he and Mark had decided to take their nephews to chase the last of the sun’s warmth, Sebastian had seen the truth. He didn’t have to wait for that one good day that would make it all worthwhile. He didn’t need to, because he had Mark, and that was more than enough. Mark who had hated him in the beginning but had treated him with such kindness and helped him go on when Sebastian wanted to give up. Mark who had given up the chance to have children simply because Sebastian did not want any, did not want to experience the pain that came with the revelations, even though there would’ve also been the greatest joy. Mark who looked upon Sebastian with love in his eyes and reassurances in his smiles, even on the darkest of days, when Sebastian would get trapped in his mind for hours and needed Mark to lead him back through the tunnel.

They never did get married, but then again they didn’t need to. And when the time finally came, Sebastian felt it take his hand and his breath, and he held onto Mark and told himself that the tightness in his heart was love. He wasn’t sad, he had been prepared for it to happen. There was nothing that he wished he had said to Mark, because they kept no secrets from each other. He felt a moment of regret at not being able to watch the children grow up, but he knew that they were in good hands, and it passed him by. He was content. He just hoped that Mark would not be too sad when he woke up.

He didn’t know that Mark would not wake up, that they would both sleep until they were found the next afternoon. He didn’t know that they would be burnt together, their ashes scattered into the sea outside their home. He didn’t know that Mark would be the one holding his hand as he stepped into the dark.

The world - their world - ended on a Tuesday.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this two years ago. Yes, TWO years ago. I wrote about 10,000 words and then got distracted with finishing uni and finding a job and just sort of forgot about it until a couple of months ago. I think that was because I was stuck in a really, really, REALLY boring city (if it can even be called a city) for six months...and my laptop nearly died on me so I was combing through it to make sure everything important was backed up. 
> 
> I had to re-write half of what I originally had because it was supposed to be set a couple of years into the future and some of the original characters AREN'T EVEN RACING IN F1 ANYMORE and one of them is leaving soon so I can't really have it too far in the future, otherwise some events wouldn't make sense. Then I realised that if I didn't finish it soon more sad things would happen and then I would get discouraged and never finish it and just end up incredibly frustrated.
> 
> Anyway, that's not important.


End file.
